


Erik and the Wolf

by naps4bats



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book/TV crossover, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Hild Looking Stern, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Romance, Smut, Swearing, mention of pregnancy loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-22 12:10:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naps4bats/pseuds/naps4bats
Summary: Alternate storyline where the kidnapping never happens, and Aethelflaed and Erik meet after Aethelred is already dead.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Erik Thurgilson
Comments: 29
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

She didn’t notice him until the council. Until then, he had been one of many warriors crowded into Lunden. His close-shaved head and short braid barely set him apart among Uhtred’s men, many of whom were more dramatic in their style and dress compared to the drab men of Wessex.

Many of of the powerful Saxons, Danes, and Northmen were gathered in Lunden to discuss how to maintain peace. Uhtred, as the lord overseeing Lunden since King Alfred’s death, was leading the talks. Æthelflæd represented Mercia, though she thought often of Wessex as well. Her brother, King Edward, was away in Frankia, and she wanted to ensure that the kingdom of her birth was cared for in his absence.

During the second day of the council, Ælfwynn was fussing, unable to sit still and silent while the alderman and priests talked, but stubbornly refusing to follow her nursemaid out of the hall. Æthelflæd was resigning herself to carrying her daughter of the room, thus missing out on some important argument or vote, when Ælfwynn’s attention was caught. Æthelflæd followed the child’s gaze across the room to a man–a Dane, by the look of him–who was crouched down and beckoning for Ælfwynn. The child ran off toward the Dane before her mother could still her, and Æthelflæd sighed, not willing to chase after and cause more of a disturbance. Anyway, her daughter would surely be safe among all these familiar men.

Ælfwynn reached the man quickly and listened while he spoke. She nodded once, twice, giggled quietly at some comment, and turned to dash out of the room. Æthelflæd’s eyes followed her and then darted back to the man. He met her gaze and smiled reassuringly at her.

Æthelflæd drew her attention back to the current speaker, an older priest. She tried to focus on his words, which seemed to be upsetting most of the room, based on the many men with fists clenched at their sides where swords and axes usually hung. As she began to tune into his speech–something about the threat of Danes and Saxons commingling, the need to keep the peoples separate–she felt the buzz of worry in her chest. _Ælfwynn is well-known_ , she reminded herself, _and well-cared for. She cannot wander far. No harm will come to her_.

She felt a familiar frustration rising, a feeling she often felt in such spaces, when her attention was divided between motherhood and politics. On the one hand, she felt like she could not fully commit herself to either, and that this made her lesser somehow than the men around her. On the other hand, she knew these two spheres were not really so separate, and that every political decision was best made with a mind towards the children and women of her kingdom. Once every council, she found herself surveying the room and thinking that these men spoke and thought in abstracts while she lived in some practical, urgent reality of milk and linens and clean water. Today, as she struggled with the urge to run off in search of Ælfwynn, Æthelflæd realized that none of these men were wondering where there children were. They were fully present in the moment, as she could never be.

Just as she was about to give in to her worry and leave the hall, the priest finished his remarks. From her place near the front of the room, she could see Finan lean to speak into Uhtred’s ear. Uhtred nodded quickly and held up a hand to silence the alderman who had taken the priest’s place. “We will pause our discussion. Take some time to drink and stretch your legs. We will reconvene when the bell tolls.”

Æthelflæd rose and quickly slipped through the crowd. She was almost at the door when Ælfwynn darted back in, panting a little from her speed and excitement. Æthelflæd caught her by the shoulders before she could run deeper into the crowd.

Ælfwynn squirmed. “Mama, no, I have a message for the man.”

“I am here, _Feilan*_ , no need to rush.”

The voice was soft and clear behind them, and Æthelflæd turned to see the man from earlier, the blonde Dane who had spoken to Ælfwynn.

Ælfwynn calmed beneath her mother’s hands, and beamed up at the man. “He says your horse will have oats for supper, and an apple for dessert. But the horse wants me to bring the apple. He will not eat it if you bring it.” The girl spoke confidently, like one of the priests delivering a speech.

“You see, I told you he was picky. If I do not follow his directions, he huffs and puffs and refuses to gallop.” The man smiled and turned to Æthelflæd. “Lady, may I borrow your daughter so I can serve supper to my stubborn horse?”

Æthelflæd narrowed her eyes at him, but he responded with a guileless smile. “I suppose she should accompany you, given that the horse requested her specifically,” she conceded, “but I will have to accompany you as well. I would like to speak to this horse myself, make sure he is not in the habit of making demands on strange ladies.”

Ælfwynn grinned triumphantly.

In moments Æthelflæd and the man were trailing behind Ælfwynn, her small figure slipping between people, carts, and animals in her rush to reach the stables. Æthelflæd turned her attention to the man.

“Did you send my daughter to take your horse’s supper order?” she demanded, her voice somewhere between amused and the firm tone she took when directing her men.

The man smiled, and she noticed how the grin reached his eyes. The faint lines around his light blue eyes seemed to soften his whole frame, and she felt more at ease, less conscious of his obvious skill as a warrior.

“That is exactly what I did. I could see her fidgeting, and I thought that a task might direct her energy. And to be fair, he is a demanding horse. He will bask in the attention, and I will ride better tomorrow.” He turned to her, as they paused to let a group of sheep pass across the road. “I know you, lady, but I do not think you know me. I am Erik Thurgilson, a guest of Uhtred.”

The name was familiar. “Thurgilson? You are one of the brothers?”

“I am. I was. Less of a brother now, since the battle in Scotland.”

“Of course, I heard of Sigefrid’s death. I am sorry for your loss.”

He smiled tightly. “Thank you, lady. I think England is not so sorry. He had a fearsome appetite for land and silver, my brother.”

For a moment, she was uncertain how to respond. She was not in the habit of mourning Pagan warlords. But they were entering the stable, and before she could speak Erik had turned to speak to Ælfwynn. “And my horse has a fearsome appetite for apples and the hands of little girls, so be careful, _feilan_.”

Ælfwynn was stroking the side of a tall, black horse, under the watchful eye of a stablehand. Erik thanked the stablehand, who bid farewell to Ælfwynn and left the three of them with the horse.

“His name is Fugl. It means bird, because he can run so fast he might have wings,” Ælfwynn explained, while Erik showed her how to offer the horse the apple. “He is four years old, just like me. Can I ride him?”

“He does not like to ride right after eating, but perhaps if he is willing, I can lift you up to sit on him for a moment.” Erik looked questioningly at Æthelflæd, who nodded discreetly.

After Ælfwynn had ‘ridden’ Fugl, Erik bracing her small body carefully, the girl went in search of her new friend the stablehand. Æthelflæd leaned against Fugl’s warm flank, savouring the horse’s calm presence. “I am sorry if she disturbed you during the council. You did not need to trouble yourself with her.”

Erik shook his head, half-occupied with brushing down the horse. “It was no trouble. I was beginning to find all those speeches very tiresome, so I amused myself just as much as her.”

“Well, it was very kind, my lord. Though I fear you and Fugl may be plagued by Ælfwynn and her apples. She is a dedicated child.”

“Fugl and I will appreciate the attention, I am sure. We can be a lonesome pair.”

She laughed as he imitated the horse’s long face, looking both forlorn and foolish. Just then, the bell began to ring, summoning them back to the council. Æthelflæd checked on her daughter, who had decided to spend the rest of the afternoon helping the stablehand. After ensuring that the stablehand _wanted_ the help, and that Ælfwynn would stay at the stable until her nursemaid came for her, Æthelflæd turned to go. She saw that Erik has lingered at his horse, waiting, perhaps, to walk with her back to the hall. She patted Fugl one last time and left the stable, feeling soothed by Erik’s easy stride beside her.

* * *

It was a wet, grey day, but the crowd gathered in the square was lively. After days of speeches and debates, the council was taking a break, waiting while messengers were sent to carry news and gather information from neighbouring lands. Æthelflæd was leaning on an empty trough, the small wooden structure a welcome barrier between her and the two men fighting in the square. Ælfwynn was seated on the trough, and was so giddy that her nursemaid, Eadgyd, was constantly reaching out to steady the child’s small body.

As the fighting men clashed and separated once again, it occurred to Æthelflæd that she was enjoying the opportunity to stare openly Erik. Every eye in the square was focused on him and his even taller opponent, and amongst the crowd she did not feel ashamed to study him closely. He was tall compared to most Saxon men, but was easily dwarfed by his giant of an opponent. This gave him an advantage, and he often seemed to escape blows by ducking under shoulders and arms. His blonde beard was neatly braided, matching the plait that ran down the centre of his head. She had never been near enough to see if the shaved sides of his head were marked by tattoos, scars, or both. While he fought, his gaze was steady and focused; his brow occasionally wrinkled in concentration while he prepared for this next move. She found him to be a handsome man: tidier than his fellow Northmen and Danes, who seemed to enjoy accessorizing with blood, bones, and dirt, but rougher than the Saxon men Æthelflæd was accustomed to.

Erik landed a kick firmly in his opponent’s stomach, sending the tall man off balance. While his enemy recovered from the blow, Erik shifted his attention to crowd, scanning quickly across the faces. He met Æthelflæd’s eyes and grinned, the smile lingering around his eyes when he turned back to the fight. Æthelflæd felt a twinge in her chest. _Had he really paused to smile at_ her _? Could he sense how intently she had been watching him?_ Her nervous thoughts were interrupted by Ælfwynn’s cheer. Of course, he had been smiling at her daughter. Ælfwynn was a loud and eager audience member, and Erik was simply acknowledging the child’s excitement.

The fight was coming to an end now, as the tall man hit Erik square in the chest with his shield. Erik landed heavily on his back, but the muddy ground that had made the fighters’ steps more treacherous also absorbed the impact of the fall. Erik laughed and climbed to his feet, giving his opponent a good-natured pat on the back before turning to leave the square.

As the next fighters set up, Ælfwynn slipped off through the crowd, tugging Eadgyd behind her. Æthelflæd could see that the child was heading towards Erik, who paused in removing his armour to speak with the girl. Just as Æthelflæd had predicted, Ælfwynn had become a devoted friend of both Erik and his horse, and took every opportunity to seek them out. Erik, to his credit, was patient with the child, answering her questions and listening attentively to the fragmented, long-winded stories the four-year-old was apt to tell. By the time Æthelflæd had reached them, Erik was showing the girl the straps on his armour, how they were arranged to ensure as little cloth and flesh was exposed as possible.

“Ælfwynn, it’s time for your lessons back at the hall. Thank Lord Erik and go with Eadgyd.”

The child and warrior exchanged polite goodbyes and Ælfwynn followed Eadgyd away from the chaos of the square.

Æthelflæd was about to turn to watch the next fight when Erik spoke. “Your daughter says that you are quite the warrior in your own right, my Lady.”

Æthelflæd shrugged off the words, giving her head a small shake. “Ælfwynn has a keen imagination. I do not have any skill as a fighter.”

Erik was focused on removing the mud from his shield. “Ah, then you are not the Æthelflæd who trained with Steapa, King Alfred’s greatest warrior. And you must not be the Æthelflæd who led the Mercian troops at Beamfleot.” He paused to smile at her, while she shook her head, annoyed. “I’m afraid your reputation supports your daughter’s claims, lady. Tell me, what weapon do you fight with now?”

Before answering, Æthelflæd looked around to see if anyone had noticed them talking. But Uhtred was fighting in the square, and all eyes were on him. His arrogance and antics kept the whole crowd rapt, leaving Æthelflæd and Erik alone on the sidelines.

“I do not fight anymore, lord. I have not trained in years.”

“And why is that?” He seemed intent on drawing out their conversation.

She sighed, considering whether to be honest with him. “I stopped training soon after I was married. My husband, Æthelred, he did not think a wife and mother should spend her time on such things. He did not like it.”

“But you liked it, did you not?” Erik’s words were gentle, not challenging, but Æthelflæd felt them scrape at her nonetheless.

“I did, yes.” Once she admitted it, she met his eye directly. She knew that the Danes and Northmen trained their countrywomen to fight, and that many shield maidens were welcome on the battlefield. But she was still wary of Erik’s judgment.

“Then I offer my services,” he said, extending his hands wide as if he were handing her a bundle of something. “I would like to train you. I am a good teacher and I think you will be an excellent student.”

She was baffled. “Why would you do that?”

He wanted to answer too bluntly, remind her that he was a lonesome man who needed attention like a horse needed apples. But he worried that such a remark would be imprudent; she may smile now but ultimately his desire would warn her off. So he chose a different truth. “This time of peace cannot last, as much as we would wish it. The talk in council warns of tensions that have not been resolved. I think you should be ready, lady. I think we should all be ready to defend ourselves, in whatever way we can.”

His answer surprised and pleased her. It had been a long time since someone had acknowledged her potential to fight for herself; she was used to being fought for. But she would not agree so easily.

“I think you need time to think, my lady. You can find me easily, should you make up your mind.” Erik bowed his head slightly and turned to put his shield and armour away. Æthelflæd slowly made her way back to the crowd, her mind buzzing with questions and thoughts.

* * *

It had been a full night and day since their conversation, and Æthelflæd was still dwelling on Erik’s offer. Should she fight again? _Could_ she? It had been years since she had felt at home in her body. First Æthelred’s cruelty, then her pregnancies–two miscarriages followed by Ælfwynn’s birth–had been hard on her. Now, she felt as if she barely knew her body; it changed gradually, softening and hardening in ways she didn’t understand and couldn’t control. She dragged it with her through her daily tasks, but it could not keep up with her buzz of thoughts and feelings. Occasionally, she wondered if her body had suffered enough for one lifetime and should be let be.

But these were bitter, self-pitying thoughts. She was not one of Father Beocca’s saints, submitting her flesh to whatever trials were sent her way. She had seen countless men carried back from the battlefield broken and bleeding, only to heal and fight again. She had seen countless women split by pain and grief, only to find their way back to the joy and work of life. Was she really so weak that she could not even attempt such a recovery?

And Erik’s words tugged at her pride: he looked at her and saw the woman who rode into battle at Beamfleot. He barely knew her, but he believed her capable of fighting for her future. Could he be right?

Eventually, it was Eadgyd who decided it, though the nursemaid had no idea of her influence on Æthelflæd’s decision. Ælfwynn was struggling and kicking against Eadgyd while the maid tried to dress her. Seeing Eadgyd’s frustration, Æthelflæd reached out and scooped Ælfwynn high into the air, holding the child across her chest. She used her other arm to still the girl’s legs so that Eadgyd could shimmy the woollen hose (too _scratchy_ , Ælfwynn moaned, even on the coldest days) onto the girl’s no-longer-wriggling legs. That accomplished, Æthelflæd swung her daughter around and stood her on the bed, placing her at the ideal height so her mother could braid her hair.

“I’m lucky you’re so strong, lady,” Eadgyd sighed, “I don’t know what that child’s been eating, but she’s growing heavier by the hour. I can hardly lift her when she gets to kicking, and here you are swinging her around like she’s nothing but an infant.”

As they continued prepping for the day ahead, Æthelflæd reflected on Eadgyd’s praise. Eadgyd was a practical, strict woman who rarely wasted breath on praise, certainly not for someone as spoiled as a high-born lady. Æthelflæd began to realize that the body she considered weak and useless, that she thought of as a passive weight to be dragged through life, was still powerful. Every day, she did the physical work of wrangling a strong-willed child, of rushing through halls to direct servants and oversee tasks, of carrying heavy jugs to serve guests and allies. If she could manage all that, couldn’t she manage a simple sword? She smiled to herself. She would have to send a message to Erik.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik told himself that if he spent more time with her, his feelings for Æthelflæd would dissipate. He would realize that she was too vain, or too foolish, or too pious, and he would forget his strange fascination with her.

Of course, this was nonsense.

They hadn’t even started their first training session and he knew he was doomed.She was putting on her armour and the very sight of her in leather and chainmail made him want her more than ever. He had to admit that his ploy to get her out of his head had _really_ been an excuse to see more of her.

In his defense, Erik did not have much experience with women–or, at least, not with _romance_ and women. There had been one girl, when he was still young, not even a man yet. But she had been married off to an jarl and he had let himself forget her. Then his life had been taken over by Sigefrid. His older brother was ambitious and restless and they were constantly on the move, finding the next land to raid or the next alliance to make and break. They had never stayed anywhere long enough for Erik to seriously consider settling.

Now that Sigefrid was gone, that’s all Erik seemed to want to do. Without his brother’s energy and impatience, Erik was not driven towards war and glory. He caught himself daydreaming about peace. Not the tense and tenuous peace between opposing factions, but the peace of a domestic life, the kind he had enjoyed when he was still a boy. And since the moment he’d seen Æthelflæd, he’d been dreaming of that peace with her.

Erik could imagine how hard Sigefrid would laugh at that. His little brother, who was _supposed_ to be the intelligent one (certainly wasn’t the strong one, Sigefrid would insist, while delivering a breathtaking punch to the gut), lovesick over a woman. A Christian woman. The sister of a Christian king, for fuck’s sake. Sigefrid would crack a rib laughing at that, and then probably put Erik out of his misery with a swift swing of an axe.

Erik felt like a fool. Sigefrid used to mock men like Bloodhair, who let themselves be led by their cocks, throwing away their dignity and their lives for women. But Sigefrid really was gone, moved onto Valhalla where he could bask in the glory he always wanted and always earned. Erik was still here, living in the world, making his own choices. He had been led by his axe long enough. Maybe it was time to try something else.

After all, he was free to pursue Æthelflæd. His men had disbanded for now and he had few responsibilities. Æthelflæd was a widow. Of course, she was a Saxon, but weren’t they working towards peace? If they were building a land where Saxons and Danes could live side by side, then why couldn’t he be with her?

Besides the fact that she had no interest in him.

Though half an hour later, he wasn’t so sure about that. He had spent some time watching Æthelflæd swing and dodge, observing that she had a great deal of strength in her upper body–probably from wrangling an adventurous four-year-old–but needed to improve her footwork. He then sparred with her, noting that she stumbled with the slightest push. Before they moved on, he needed her to develop a firmer stance, and he so he stood behind her and reached his hand around to her stomach.

“Here,” he explained, “you need to tighten the muscles here and bend your knees slightly. Then you’ll be lower than your opponent, and when they hit, they won’t be able to knock you off balance so easily.” He paused, but she didn’t seem to be taking his instructions, her body as shaky as ever against his. He tried a new approach. “When I’m fighting, I come back to this always, like the chorus of a song, yes? Between each move, I think _stay low, stay strong_. And the more I think about it, the more it becomes habit, until it is natural. You understand?” She nodded. His mother used to teach him this way: explain something, then ask him to say it back, keep him listening always. “So what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking of your hands touching me.” She said the words so soft, he barely heard her.

He dropped his hands instantly, took a step back. “I’m sorry lady. I–I wasn’t thinking.” And for once it was true, he hadn’t been thinking about her body and touch and how much he wanted just that. He had been so focused on the lesson.

“No! No, it’s alright. It didn’t bother me,” she reassured him, though she still looked out of sorts. “It’s only…no man has touched me in a long time. I am used to maids and children, yes. Not men. Not you. I didn’t mean for you to stop.”

He saw the flush in her cheeks, stark against her pale complexion. He couldn’t read it clearly. But as he continued with the lesson, being careful not to touch her more than necessary, he started to hope she’d been wanting him too.

* * *

They had been training for several days now and were growing more comfortable with each other, though Erik was still painfully aware of her–how she smiled and laughed so easily, how determined she was, and how beautiful she looked even after training in the mud and rain.

Æthelflæd was enjoying the lessons more than she expected. Of course, she had loved training with Steapa when she was younger, and the old warrior’s lessons were starting to come back to her, giving her confidence as she attempted to rebuild her strength and learn new skills.

One morning, Erik was being particularly pushy, trying to teach her to hold her ground as much as possible. She was growing frustrated with his shield jostling against her. He seemed to always be faster and stronger than she was–which, she supposed, was the truth. She could feel the anger bubbling up in her, not at Erik so much as at this feeling of being overpowered. Æthelflæd paused to take a deep breath, plant her feet, and then yelled with her whole body.

It worked. Erik leapt back in surprise, and Æthelflæd was blissfully free from the wall of his shield.

She paused to catch her breath, and when she looked up she saw the surprised smile wide on Erik’s face.

“Well for fuck’s sake!” He rarely swore in her presence, and his slip made her join in his laughter.

It took a few moments for them to collect themselves. He stood up straight and raised his shield again. “Alright, so you found a new weapon, lady. If you use it sparingly, it will be more effective. Now, after you scream and drive me back, advance on me, with your weapon and shield ready. Don’t give me the space to recover and prepare. Take that space and catch me off guard, yes?”

She nodded and planted her feet, preparing for the next attack.

* * *

It was another long morning of discussions at council and Æthelflæd’s attention was beginning to drift. She had been sitting on the hard bench for hours and she was longing to stretch her limbs. Perhaps while holding a sword. Perhaps in the presence of a certain Northman. A Northman who she knew was leaning against the wall on the right side of the room, next to the tapestry. She willed herself not to turn her head and look at him.

She snapped back to attention when she heard the Archbishop from Winchester mention Mercia. “We all know that Mercia,” he was droning, “will not make an agreement with Danes. Not after Dane rule over northern Mercia–”

She interrupted him before he could explain further. “Mercia is open to a truce with Danes, particularly if it benefits neighbouring kingdoms. I would advise you, your grace, not to speak for others.”

The Archbishop glared at her briefly, unhappy with the interruption. “I am only speaking to Æthelred’s policy. The Lord of Mercia did not deal with pagans and warlords. Mercia is a Christian land, and should remain so, unsullied by the greed and violence of the Danes.”

Æthelflæd suppressed a sigh. “I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, your grace, but Lord Æthelred is dead. He has been dead for more than a year. He cannot refuse alliances from his grave.”

The Archbishop wheeled on Æthelflæd then, fixing his grim gaze on her. “Do not speak ill of the dead, girl.”

She met his gaze fiercely, “I do not speak ill of my husband. I only acknowledge that he is dead, and can have no more say in how my land is to be managed. And I am not a girl. I am a lady, and a leader of Mercia.”

She spoke slow and soft as she found her confidence. She sensed the people in the hall leaning forward to hear her clearly. The Archbishop began to speak over her, but Uhtred stopped him: “Silence, priest, the Lady of Mercia is speaking.”

Æthelflæd continued, her voice steady and firm now. “It is true that parts of Mercia endured Danish rule, and it certainly was not easy on our people. But many of those Danes settled in Mercia, living with and even marrying Saxons. I count those settlers among my people, regardless of who they worship or where they were born. And as for Æthelred, I must acknowledge that many Saxons suffered under his leadership as well. His taxes were high and his patience was short, and there are whole families who moved north to submit to Danish rule rather than suffer the whims of a selfish lord. Yes, Archbishop, now I am speaking ill of the dead, but I represent Mercians and it is my duty to repeat what they have told me. Mercia is no longer simply a Christian kingdom and its people no longer believe that they will always be safe under Saxon leadership. Saxon rulers, my late husband included, have proven that they are entirely capable of greed and violence. Perhaps Danes are also capable of mercy and peace, should we give them the opportunity to prove it. As ruler of Mercia, I am open to building a truce and perhaps even an alliance with the Danes.”

There was a rumble around the room, though Æthelflæd was focused on maintaining her posture and could not look around to see the reaction her words received. Uhtred wore a smirk, and she knew he must be pleased with her. He needed more Saxon allies. But Hild did not share in Uhtred’s pleasure. The abbess was seated off to the side of Uhtred, and she smiled at Æthelflæd even as Æthelflæd recognized the worry in her friend’s eyes. _I have made myself a target_ , she thought, understanding Hild’s concern. For the past 14 months, she had been ruling Mercia, taking over the duties after Æthelred’s death from fever. In fact, she’d led the fyrd long before that, as Æthelred had little interest in battles. But by naming herself as leader of Mercia in front of a room full of angry, greedy, nervous men, she’d put herself at risk. If she was leader of Mercia and they did not agree with her policies, all they had to do was remove her from power.

Father Beocca was gesturing to Uhtred, who sighed and adjourned the council just in time for mid-morning mass. Æthelflæd made her way quickly out of the hall towards the church. Though she did not attend church as often as she had under her father’s authority, this morning it was a necessity. After speaking back to the Archbishop, she needed to look like a good Christian lady. And, once she slipped into the church, she would be safe from discussing her speech and its consequences, at least for an hour.

Leaving the hall behind her, Æthelflæd did not allow herself to look back and try to meet Erik’s gaze. She did not need his approval, though she was beginning to desire it.

* * *

After a long day of sermons and debates, Æthelflæd was as eager as Ælfwynn to walk to the stables and visit Fugl. Lately, the child had been full of stories–some of them very far fetched–about her new friends Fugl the horse and Aghi the stablehand. Æthelflæd wanted to speak to Aghi, partly to confirm he was an acceptable influence on her child and partly to ensure that Ælfwynn wasn’t driving the poor man mad.

When they were a block from the stables, Aldhelm crossed the road to meet them. Æthelflæd was immediately on her guard. Aldhelm still held sway in Mercia and she was certain he would have something to say about her speech. Aldhelm had been Æthelred’s closest advisor. In the final months of Æthelred’s life, Aldhelm seemed to realize he had championed the wrong man, as he was left to clean up the many messes Æthelred left in his wake. Since her husband’s death, Aldhelm had worked hard to restore his influence in Mercia, and had even treated Æthelflæd with exaggerated respect. But Æthelflæd could not forgive him. All his bows and praise could not make her forgot the humiliation he had put her through at Æthelred’s command. Nor could she forgot that he endorsed, perhaps even encouraged, Æthelred’s controlling and abusive behaviour. She tried to avoid Aldhelm at all costs, but here he was blocking her path.

“Good afternoon, my lady. I wanted to congratulate you on your performance this morning.”

She attempted to shoulder past him, but Ælfwynn was hanging back, distracted by a nearby dog.

“Of course, I understand that your speech was more about reputation than politics,” he continued, “You cannot really think that Mercia should welcome Danish allies, or that you would have the right to make such an alliance.”

She sighed and turned to face him. “You seem confused, Aldhelm. I am Lady of Mercia. I have been attending witans, collecting taxes, and settling disputes for the past year. I spend my days consulting with Mercians, and I have come here to represent them. Who else but me has the right to make political moves?”

He leaned in closer, and she instinctively stepped back to put some space between them. “I am not confused, lady. Æthelred died. He did not leave a legitimate heir. You have been kind enough to oversee the administration of the kingdom while myself and the ealderman of Mercia decide who the kingdom should pass to.”

“My daughter is his legitimate heir and I will lead until she is ready.”

He grinned but there was no joy in it. “Of course, lady. Just as you were your father’s heir. Tell me, who inherited the throne of Wessex?”

She moved to go around him, but he grabbed at her arm. “I would prefer we settle this matter soon, lady. Before you feel compelled to make another speech.”

She gently tugged away from him, trying to keep calm. But he held her too tightly, and her panic was getting the best of her.

Just then, she felt a gentle hand on her opposite shoulder, and Erik appeared beside her. “Lady Æthelflæd, can I offer any assistance?”

He had taken his hand from her shoulder and was resting it lightly on the handle of his sword. He stepped forward, awkwardly placing his body between Æthelflæd and Aldhelm.

Aldhelm moved back, releasing Æthelflæd’s arm, but then looked the Northman up and down. “Ah, lady, I think I understand your sudden interest in the Danes.” The truth in his words left a bad taste in Æthelflæd’s mouth.

Erik stared Aldhelm down until the Saxon seemed to give up. “Lady Æthelflæd, I wish you good day. I will find you again soon so I can clarify the plan for Mercia.”

Erik answered quickly. “I am sure that if the Lady of Mercia wishes to speak with you, she will seek you out herself.” He smiled at Aldhelm until the man turned to leave. Æthelflæd recognized Erik’s grin: she’d seen it on Uhtred and other Pagans and Danes. It was both menacing and confident, as if the person bearing it knew they were stronger but would find it very amusing to be challenged. It was the grin of men who knew the power of their bodies, and it always seemed to unravel the spirit of men who wielded power through words.

When Aldhelm was out of sight, Erik looked at Æthelflæd with concern. “Where are you headed, lady? I can walk with you.”

“No, that’s alright. I was just taking Ælfwynn to visit that silly horse of yours.”

Ælfwynn turned back from the dog, thrilled as always to see Erik.

“Well then, _Feilan_ , you can run ahead and do me a favour. Fugl is quite angry with me. It’s my own fault, I made a joke about a cow, it wasn’t very nice. I fear if I go to the stable, he will kick me, square in the chest. But he isn’t angry with you, so perhaps you can explain to him how sorry I am?”

Ælfwynn frowned slightly. “You shouldn’t say mean things, Erik.”

Erik sighed. “You’re right, _Feilan_ , of course you’re right. But sometimes my tongue runs ahead of my thoughts and gets me into trouble. I swear I will be more careful. You can tell him all that, yes?”

Ælfwynn dashed off, ready to use her infinite skills as a mediator to appease Fugl.

“What is that name you call her? Fell–”

“ _Feilan_ ,” Erik corrected.

“What does it mean? I don’t recognize it.”

For a moment he looked embarrassed, something she had never expected. “It means little wolf. Wolfling.”

“Do you call her that because she runs wild? Because I’ve let her go feral?”

He laughed, “No, of course not. I call her that because she’s the child of a wolf.”

She looked up at him, puzzled.

He sighed and began to explain. “You remind me of a wolf. We have many wolves back in Norway. When I was young they fascinated me. My mother told me they were the smartest animals, that they thought through every situation and every move, and that’s why they were so difficult to hunt. They care for each other, see? And they put their intelligence towards keeping each other safe.” He wasn’t meeting her eyes now. “I see how intelligent you are, Lady Æthelflæd. I see how you navigate every situation with an eye to the people you care for. And like the wolf, you are strong and fierce. You howl at your foes, whether on the battlefield or in council.”

He paused then, and she didn’t speak, letting him find his way through the silence. “And you’re beautiful. So I think of you as a wolf. And your daughter is a _feilan_ , a little wolf in training.”

He looked up at her then, those faint lines around his eyes as if he were smiling, though the smile didn’t seem to reach his mouth.

She took a moment, letting his words sink in. And then, gathering her courage, she leaned forward and kissed him. It was quick and light, all she could manage before she succumbed to the urge to flee. But she kissed him all the same, grinned, and turned to follow her daughter to the stables.

* * *

It had been two days since the kiss and Æthelflæd was all nerves. The council had been adjourned for a holy day, at Father Beocca’s request. Uhtred did not care which saint was being honoured, but he was happy for a day of feasting. Æthelflæd had missed the celebrations entirely, as Ælfwynn had caught some kind of illness. Æthelflæd had spent the day and night soothing the child. Æthelflæd had planned not to come to her training, but by sunrise, Ælfwynn was faring better and was sound asleep with Eadgyd close at hand. After so many hours in the close, hot air of the sick room, Æthelflæd welcomed the fresh rain falling outside.

She approached their training spot with trepidation. Would Erik show up? Would he pretend nothing had happened between them? Or worse, would he want to talk about? Perhaps they could cancel on account of the rain and put off this awkwardness for another day. Or forever.

As she rounded the corner, she saw Erik leaning against a wall, taking shelter under the eaves of a building. He saw her and immediately stood up straight, which made her even more nervous. Had he grown taller? He certainly hadn’t been this handsome two days before. Had he?

“Good morning, lady.”

“Good morning, Lord Erik. You are soaking wet. I hope you didn’t wait long in the rain?”

“No. Well, yes. I’ve been here a while. I didn’t want to miss you.”

“So you arrived early?”

Her question seemed to embarrass him. “I just wanted to be sure I spoke to you. I have work to do today. I won’t have time for our lesson.”

She was leaning against the wall now, enjoying the cool feel of the stone against her tired body. She looked up at him curiously. “You didn’t have to come out early in the rain just to tell me that! You could have sent a messenger to the hall.”

Erik shrugged, pushed the wet hair out of his face, leaned in, and kissed her. He held her face between his cold hands, and the shock made her gasp. He drew away and hesitantly met her eyes.

“Well, I suppose you couldn’t have sent a messenger to do that,” Æthelflæd whispered. Before he could respond, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in for another kiss.

Several moments passed before they paused to catch their breath. “I have to go,” he muttered, planting a trail of kisses down her neck and collar bone.

“Then you should probably stop kissing me,” she whispered, while finding his lips for more kisses. After another moment, he planted his hands on her shoulders and firmly stepped back, putting distance between them.

“I cannot stay, lady, and I won’t be tricked into it.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, I am certainly at fault for this.”

Erik laughed and ran his hands down her arms, grasping her hands in his. “But I will need to see you soon. Can you meet me in two days, in the morning?”

She nodded, enjoying the feel of his hands tucked around her fingers.

“Can you meet me at sunrise? Can you wake that early?” he asked.

Æthelflæd laughed, “Of course. I have a very small child. I _always_ wake at sunrise.”

“Good. You will find me at the Roman arch, behind the square. I have something to show you.”

Erik leaned in for one more kiss, soft and sweet, before stepping back out into the rain. Æthelflæd watched him go, then was struck by a sudden paranoia. Had anyone seen them? She looked around quickly, but the old paddock where they trained was quiet this early in the day. She was still hidden mostly by the walls of the stone building, and even looking out into the field, she could barely see through the thick rain. All was well today, but they would have to be more careful with whatever this was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book Aldhelm was a jerk, and TV Aldhelm can't make me forget it. 
> 
> I think the politics will stay fairly vague, because I can't remember them in detail and I don't have time to do research. Stay for the fluff!


	3. Chapter 3

Æthelflæd arrived at the arch early, when the sky was still a muggy gray, but Erik was already waiting for her. The sight of him sent a giddy feeling through her chest. She knew there were a few people walking nearby, mostly merchants setting up for the day, so she resisted the ridiculous urge to wrap her arms around him.

“Good morning, lady,” he whispered, with a warm smile.

“Why are you whispering?” she asked, though she kept her voice low too.

“I heard a rumour that the Roman gods still visit this arch. I don’t want to wake them this early in the day. Don’t you think they would be angry with us?”

“I don’t believe in the Roman gods.”

He shrugged and began walking away from the arch. “That doesn’t mean they won’t be angry with you.”

She followed him along the wall, away from the busy main streets and into a quieter part of Lunden. The wall had stood for centuries, even when Lunden had been all but abandoned after the fall of the Romans. Now that King Alfred had worked to revive the city, the wall served many uses, but parts of it were still unused and overgrown. Eventually Erik turned away from the wall, leading Æthelflæd down a steep slope and into a grove of trees. He stopped at the edge of a small pond and the two of them settled side by side on a large rock.

Æthelflæd was struck by the sudden silence. In a mere matter of steps, they had left the city behind. Sheltered by the trees and gazing out on the still water, she felt tranquil.

“It’s so quiet here,” she said, her voice ringing loud between them. She suddenly felt awkward and unsure. Should she be here, with this strange man? What had she gotten herself into?

“Not for long,” Erik whispered, “That’s why I brought you here so early. I thought you’d enjoy listening to them.”

“Listening to who?” Æthelflæd asked, but just then she heard a deep croak from the pond, followed by another, and another. A brief silence and then a splash, as a small brown body leapt from a rock nearby.

Æthelflæd laughed then and Erik smiled in satisfaction. “I found them about a month ago. I was out late one night…celebrating. When I made my way back to my lodgings, the sun was already rising, and I heard it. I thought I must be dreaming or still drunk. I followed the sound and found them: dozens of frogs croaking away, unbothered by the half-drunk warrior stumbling through their home.”

They didn’t speak for a while, both of them listening to the creatures in the pond. Æthelflæd was searching among the rocks and shallows, trying to spot as many of them as she could. She could feel Erik’s gaze upon her, but she was not yet brave enough to turn and look at him.

“I remember this sound from when I was young,” she spoke rapidly to assuage her nerves, “when I lived in the marshlands. I would hear them at dusk. I would sit on the edge of the dock with my legs hanging over the water, and I would try and spot them among the reeds. But it grew dark so fast and I never saw more than a handful. Then I would count the stars, as many as I could before I was called into the hut.”

She paused then, wondering if she was boring Erik. But he was still watching her intently, his expression curious. “I did not know Saxon princesses lived in huts in marshlands.”

Æthelflæd thought about correcting him. She was not a princess, just a lady. Her mother, Ælswith, had never been granted the title of queen, and Æthelflæd and her siblings were lords and ladies, not princes and princesses. In Alfred’s kingdom, he alone was royalty.

“After the Danes captured Winchester, my family fled into the marshes. Did you not occupy Wessex?”

It felt odd, to acknowledge the many wars between their people.

“No,” Erik answered. “I was still in Norway then. Barely more than a boy.”

“I was young too. We lived in the marshlands for a year or more. It was a hard time for my family, but I was happy there. I had more freedom. Everyday I would choose someone and follow them around, so I could learn what they did.”

“So Ælfwynn comes by it honestly, then.” She smiled at his interjection. “What did you learn in the marshlands?” he asked.

“I learned how to fish, but I didn’t enjoy it. I learned how to swim from Hild; she would take me to the deeper waters. It was our secret, because my mother would not approve. Sometimes I would follow Uhtred, but he didn’t like that. He moved too fast for me to keep up and he refused to be responsible for me falling into the mud. He made me swear to leave him alone during the daylight. In exchange, he would spent time with me in the evenings, teaching me whatever skills he had to share: how to carve wood or how to whistle or how best to tease Father Beocca.”

Erik chuckled softly at this, and the warm sound urged her onward.

“My favourite person to follow was Uhtred’s queen. Her work was the most interesting.”

“Uhtred had a queen?”

“Yes, Queen Iseult. She was a Pagan, from Cornwallen. Some believed she had the powers of prophecy, but I don’t know if that was true. She was a skilled healer, though. She saved my brother’s life and she kept my father well for a time.” She thought for a moment before continuing. “I spent my childhood among Saxons. I only heard about the Danes and the Pagans in sermons and war stories. Sometimes I would see them from afar, but only when there were prisoners brought into Winchester. But when I lived in the marshlands, I spent everyday with Uhtred and Hild and Iseult and I was fascinated. Hild was a Saxon born and raised, but she’d left the convent and taken up a sword. She had such courage and she believed that she could learn to defend the people she cared for, not just with prayer but with her body. Uhtred was this wild, half-Dane. He didn’t believe in God and he did not treat my father with respect, but he had the power to save our family and even our kingdom. He had lived with the Danes and he was stronger for it. And Iseult–she was so gentle. The priests despised her because she was a Pagan with powers of her own. But she was so determined to help my family, no matter how badly treated she was. She was the only one who could help my brother.” She turned to Erik now, meeting his gaze. “Because we fled Winchester, I had the chance to see that more was possible. There was more than the Christian god and the Saxon ways. I began to believe that I could learn from the Danes and the Pagans. I was just a girl, but I imagined that we could live more peacefully. That our differences could make us better, not destroy us.”

Æthelflæd shook her head then, as if to shake away the heavy memories. “Am I boring you, lord? I did not mean to go on so long.”

Erik didn’t answer, just reached across the rock and offered her his hand. She took it tentatively. He began to stroke his thumb along her wrist, the movement steady and reassuring.

“I think you are right,” he said finally. “I think there are many more possibilities than what we were taught.” He spoke slowly, feeling out the words. “I am sure you have heard of me and my brother. We travelled far and wide and we left a great deal of destruction in our wake. It is what I was raised to do. It was how I earned respect and kept myself and my men well-fed. But I have many regrets. Long before Sigefrid died, I was doubting myself and my choices. I caused a lot of pain and to what end? Where has it led me?” He drew away from her and dragged his hands over his face. “My reputation was not worth all that harm. Sigefrid has reached Valhalla, but I am still here, and I am tired and uneasy. There must be a better path. I must be capable of more than killing Saxons and raiding churches.” He laughed then, but there was no humour in it. “I want peace, lady. I don’t deserve it, but I want it.”

In the silence that followed, Æthelflæd took his hand where it rested on his knee. His eyes were downcast and so full of remorse that she felt the urge to sooth him. She tentatively reached out her other hand and brushed his cheek. “I think you are deserving, Erik.”

He kissed her then, pulling her close. After a night of tense, sleepless anticipation, Æthelflæd let her body relax in his arms. Their kisses deepened, and she grew eager for more, pushing in closer to his chest. Suddenly, he stilled and firmly pressed her back away from him.

Æthelflæd was immediately embarrassed. “I was too forward. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” he reassured her, his voice gentle and amused. “I had to stop before you knocked us both off this rock. I am used to looking like a rough Dane, but I imagine you’d have difficulty explaining away a dress covered in mud.” Before she could respond, he drew her close again, setting her firmly in his lap. “There now, I am stable. Continue, lady.”

For an instant, she imagined how unseemly she must look, sitting in the lap of a Northman, surrounded by talkative frogs. But then he was kissing her again and she had no room for thoughts.

Far too soon, the sun was fully risen and Æthelflæd knew she must return before she was missed. “I have to get back.”

Erik groaned and pulled her closer. “Is it because my hand is up your skirt? Because I will happily put my hand elsewhere if it means you can stay a little longer.”

She smiled against his shoulder. “No, I have people who will be looking for me. An excitable child. A strict nursemaid. A bevy of priests. I can’t disappoint them.”

Erik sighed and released her. “I want to see you again. Soon.”

Æthelflæd didn’t respond, standing to straighten her clothes. The reality of their situation was crashing down upon her. What had they begun? Where could this possibly lead? She wrapped her veil, which had been pulled off at some point during their visit, and turned to Erik. “My veil, is it straight?”

Standing up, he leaned forward to tuck some hair under the fabric, lingering to kiss her softly on the forehead. “It is perfect, lady.”

As she began to climb the slope out of the grove, she turned back to him. “I will find us somewhere to be together. Alone.” Her words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication.

He looked surprised. “Is that possible?”

She shrugged and feigned a lighthearted smile. “We shall see. Goodbye, Erik.”

He watched her climb out of sight.

* * *

Æthelflæd found Erik in the hall the following evening. She waited until he was standing alone, hoping to approach him as inconspicuously as possible.

“Tomorrow,” she said, sidling up to him as he served himself more ale.

“Tomorrow?”

“The side entrance of the Abbey. Hild will be expecting you.”

“Are you trying to convert me?” he asked, genuinely confused for a moment.

She rolled her eyes, a terrible habit she had picked up from Uhtred. “I am trying to get you alone.”

“In a convent?”

“An abbey.”

“I can’t say I understand the difference.”

“Tomorrow at dinner time. Side entrance.” Æthelflæd turned and slipped away into the crowd.

Erik took a long drink of ale. Tomorrow.

* * *

Uhtred had been Lord of Lunden for eight months. Of course, this wasn’t a real title, but Finan had announced it one evening when they were all deep in their cups, and it stuck, becoming everyone’s favourite cheer. When he had taken Lunden, Uhtred had brought all his people with him, a rag tag group who lived at the seam–or fault–between Danish and Saxon culture. He had given Hild her own Abbey, insisting that she and Beocca were the only God he needed or wanted in his town. Though she was often frustrated with Uhtred and his way of leading, she was happy to have a place to call her own. As Abbess, she had an outlet for all her energy and many people who needed her care. She was protective of the building and the people it housed, including the nuns, novices, and visitors who came seeking support.

So when Erik Thurgilson knocked on her door one evening, she was wary. She hardly knew the man, but she had heard stories of him and his brother. She held the door ajar, not prepared to let him in, and glared at him. “Lord Erik. I am sure you are aware that I am under Lord Uhtred’s protection.”

He looked surprised and took a step back. “I was told you were expecting me?”

It took another moment before Hild understood. “Of course. Follow me.” She ushered Erik inside. Erik followed Hild up a set of stairs and down a narrow hallway. She paused at the final door and knocked, a brief warning before she reached down to unlock it. Æthelflæd was sitting inside and she stood quickly when the door opened.

“I am leaving you the key,” Hild said curtly, “Return it to me when you are finished.”

Æthelflæd nodded nervously. “Thank you, Abbess Hild.”

Hild left without another word, shutting the door behind her.

Erik stood uncertainly near the doorway. He felt too large for the room. It was small, without windows, and held only a bed and a wooden stool. Despite their training and their other encounters, Erik felt as though he had never been so close to Æthelflæd. He approached her slowly, taking in the sight of her. She wore a plain dress, without the adornment she usually wore in council and other public settings. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, as he had only seen it once before, in the morning at the pond. She always wore her hair braided or hidden under a veil. He reached out to run his fingers through it and she sighed as his fingers grazed her cheek.

“You are all I have thought about for days,” she murmured, “But now that you are here with me, it feels strange.”

He drew her close until his forehead was leaning against hers. The closeness reassured her. Æthelflæd tipped her head to kiss him and his arms went around her. She fumbled to pull him closer and closer, trying to meet the desire that was rising in her chest. But then–

They had moved towards the bed, and she felt the frame hit the back of her thighs. The sudden sensation jolted her from one state to another. She pushed at Erik’s chest, desperate to put distance between them. He stumbled back in surprise.

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No! No. It’s–” Æthelflæd couldn’t explain what had happened, but her pulse was racing and she felt sick. “It wasn’t you. I just felt strange. I’m certain it will pass.”

She sat down on bed and breathed deeply, willing herself to find calm. Erik squatted before her and ran his hands down her arms, as if he were attempting to warm her. His touch reassured her again, and she raised her head to smile at him.

“I am alright. No need to look so worried. This room is simply too warm. Not enough air.” Æthelflæd leaned forward to kiss him, holding his face between her palms. He nuzzled into her neck and she tilted her head as his mouth traced down to the collar of her dress. He half rose to reach her better, and suddenly his body seemed to loom over hers on the bed.

Æthelflæd gasped and drew back sharply. Noticing her sudden stillness, Erik stopped and looked up at her. Æthelflæd could not meet his eyes. He stood and walked to the other side of the room.

“Something is not right,” he said, sliding down until he was seated with his back against the wall.

Æthelflæd sat up on the bed and stared down at her knees.

“Lady. Can you tell me what is wrong?”

She placed her fingers on her right wrist, finding the fluttering pulse. She willed it too slow.

Erik waited for her to speak.

“The room and the bed. It reminds me too much of another time.”

“Of when, lady?”

She swallowed heavily. “Of my wedding night.”

There was a long pause while he seemed to turn over her words. “It is not a good memory, I take it?”

“No,” she laughed, the sound harsh and awkward. “Not at all.”

A bitter taste rose in Erik’s mouth. He had heard rumours that Æthelred had not been a good husband, but the stories were vague. He both feared and yearned to know more, to understand what had happened to her.

“Would you like me to leave?”

“Please don’t.” She was still staring at her hands, at her fingers pressed to her wrist.

Erik considered his words carefully. “You know I am here to see you. To speak with you. I expect nothing more.”

“But I want more. I want this. It is not fair. How can he rule me from the grave?” Æthelflæd’s voice was rough with frustration.

Erik stood and crossed the room, sitting next to her on the bed. He rested his hand on his knee, palm up, an invitation. Æthelflæd took it, curling her fingers between his.

After a long moment he spoke, softly. “It is just us here, _ástin mín*_. Just you and me. And if you lead, I will follow.”

When Æthelflæd looked up at him, his gaze was gentle. For the third time, she leaned in to kiss him. She was tentative at first, then kissed him deeper and harder before easing up. He didn’t miss a single cue, mirroring her touch and tone and pressure. Soon, Æthelflæd felt her desire overtake her unease. She pushed him back onto the bed and leaned in to drop kisses along the lines of his smile.

* * *

“There is never enough time,” Æthelflæd lamented, as she watched Erik putting on his clothes.

“In future, lady, you should find a lover who is not so important and popular, then you can have him all to yourself.” 

She swiped at him playfully but he caught her hand and drew it to his lips, kissing her palm. “Will you lead me out? Make sure Hild isn’t waiting for me with a knife?”

Æthelflæd smirked. “That is probably best.”

He followed her through the narrow hallway and down towards the side door. Before they left the darkness of the staircase, she spun on her heels and drew him in for one last kiss, then just as suddenly turned and led him into the small room where Hild was waiting.

Hild stood when they entered and opened the side door, leaning out to look around. When she was sure there was no one nearby, she turned and looked pointedly at Erik.

“Good evening, Abbess Hild,” said Erik, and nodded at the two women as he disappeared into the dusk.

Hild shut the door and returned to the table, pulling out a chair for Æthelflæd.

“I shouldn’t impose on you any further, Hild.”

“You should and you will. You told your family you are dining with me, yes? Then that is what you will do.”

Æthelflæd sat down. She had seen how stern Hild could be, particularly with Uhtred’s men when they displeased her, but she had never been on the receiving end of it. She felt as timid as a child under the nun’s unyielding gaze.

Only after they both had servings of food and ale did Hild speak. “I must say he caught me off guard, lady, when he knocked on the door. He was not who I expected.”

“You did not ask who I wanted to meet.”

“Because I thought I knew. I am still foolish enough to think I know everything.”

Æthelflæd grinned then. “Who did you think I was meeting, Hild?”

Hild focused on her plate, trying to suppress a smile. “Finan.”

Æthelflæd laughed in surprise. “Finan? Hild, I think you may be insulting me.”

“He is a handsome enough man! Though he talks too much and too loudly. And drinks too much. And fights too much.”

“He is handsome enough, but as you say, he is a little too much. I could not choose him.”

“So you have chosen a Dane, then? One of the brothers.” Hild’s voice was more serious then. “You know of his reputation, do you not?”

Æthelflæd sighed. “Yes, I do. I also know of Uhtred’s reputation, and Steapa’s, and Finan’s, for that matter. I am surrounded by warriors, Hild. All of the men I care for have lived in violence. You have lived in violence. I wonder if Erik is really any different?” She could tell she had Hild’s attention then. Hild was an avid listener and dreadfully honest. If Æthelflæd could convince Hild of Erik’s merit, then that would count for something. “And I wonder how much reputation tells us about who someone really is? Æthelred had a reputation as a gentleman when I first married him, but he was the cruelest man I have ever known. Even at his worst, he still had enough charm to get any room on his side. Erik has a reputation as a brutal warrior, yes, but I have only known him to be gentle and honest. I feel safe with him. I feel strong with him. I have not felt that way in a long time.”

Hild had reached across the small table to hold Æthelflæd’s hand.

“Then I suppose he is worthy of your attention, lady. Though I do not know where it can lead.”

“Nor do I. But I am grateful for your help today.”

Hild huffed and drained her mug. “I do not think it’s fair that all these men can sleep with whoever they wish, but a good woman like you would be ruined. So I suppose I am complicit in whatever mess you are getting yourself into.”

“I will be careful, Hild. I promise.” Æthelflæd reached for the jug of ale and refilled their mugs. “Besides, I have already spoken my way into trouble at the council. Perhaps the Mercian lords will catch up to me before Erik and I are found out.”

“We can only hope, lady. An assassination makes for an excellent distraction.” They laughed then. Æthelflæd felt the tension between them dissolve.

“Now tell me all the abbey gossip. I know I am not the most exciting thing around here.”

Hild smiled and launched into a story about a pair of novices, recently converted Danish girls who had begged to be welcomed into the order. The girls were struggling with many aspects of the Christian faith. Most recently, they misunderstand the whole concept of saints, insisting on calling them “little gods” or, when they were feeling particularly silly, “baby gods.” Æthelflæd listened happily, settling into a newfound sense of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hild is here to help your girl get some. Hild’s not a regular nun, she’s a cool nun. 
> 
> I am also willfully forgetting any book reference to Erik during the attack on Winchester, and especially any implication that Erik had anything to do with Hild's suffering. Not in my AU. 
> 
> *The internet tells me that ástin mín is Old Norse for “my dear.”


	4. Chapter 4

Erik returned to Lunden late in the evening. He had ridden to the coast to meet one of his men, who had taken up trading during peace time. Now he was eager for the comfort of a bed. He had spent too many hours riding in the cold grey spring weather.

He was taking down his saddlebags when Aghi came over and began tending to Fugl.

“I have a message from your wee friend,” Aghi said, beginning to brush out Fugl’s mane.

Erik thought for a moment. “Ælfwynn?” he asked.

Aghi nodded. “She came to say goodbye to Fugl and was dismayed to find you both gone. She and her mother have been called away to Winchester, ‘on urgent business with her lord uncle,’ she said. She wanted a promise that she would see Fugl again soon, but I could not make one.”

So King Edward was back from Francia and had called his sister to Winchester. Erik was disappointed that he had missed Æthelflæd. With the Saxon king back in Wessex, any future politics would play out in Winchester, and Æthelflæd would not be able to return to Lunden. But could Erik make his way to Winchester? And how soon?

He was brought out of his thoughts by a huff from Fugl, who was being led out to feed by Aghi. Erik reminded himself to slow down with his thoughts and feelings. He had responsibilities of his own and he owed his attention to Uhtred. Winchester, and Æthelflæd, would have to wait.

* * *

Though Æthelflæd regretted her rushed departure from Lunden, she was grateful for the calm familiarity of Winchester. She was happy to see her brother, who finally seemed to be adjusting to his position as king. She was secretly relieved that her mother had stayed behind in Francia, choosing to spend more time with Æthelflæd’s younger sister and her new baby. Æthelflæd loved her mother, but Ælswith was strict and demanding, and ever since the death of Alfred, nothing seemed to satisfy her.

On her third day in Winchester, Æthelflæd sought out Steapa. She had known the warrior her whole life. He’d been training her ever since she was ten and had been caught playing with a knife she’d snuck from the kitchen. When she married Æthelred, she had missed Steapa’s lessons, all the more when her new husband banned her from finding a new teacher. During the past few years, Æthelflæd had avoided Steapa, even when she spent days or weeks in Winchester. She felt ashamed that she’d given up her training. She didn’t want to disappoint him, and she wondered if he of all people would be the one to recognize how weak she had become as Æthelred’s wife.

But now, after several weeks training with Erik, Æthelflæd felt confident enough to look for Steapa and try to make amends for her cowardice.

She found him in the armoury, sharpening some weapons. She waited until he’d put down a sword and was reaching for a cup of water, and she tapped him on the shoulder. He wheeled around and she giggled at his surprise.

“LadyÆthelflæd, you should be more careful. Sneaking up on a man with a weapon.”

She smiled, not bothered by his scolding words. His voice was soft and gentle. Steapa always spoke softly to her and other women. It was as though his voice was attempting to balance out his massive form, and it was effective. Æthelflæd was never scared or timid around him, though he was certainly one of the strongest warriors in Wessex. He put her at ease.

“How are you, Steapa? It has been far too long since I have spent time with you.”

He settled down on a nearby stool. “I am well, lady, though my limbs have begun to creak with age. I think I am beginning to rust.”

“That’s nonsense, Steapa. You’re more fit and able than anyone else I know.”

He smiled shyly. He was not comfortable with praise. “And you, lady? You look well.”

“I am well, Steapa. I feel better than I have in years. I have started training again, can you tell?” She flexed her arm to show off her slight muscle.

He laughed. “I will believe it when I see it, lady. You were my best student, but I think you have shirked too long.”

“Then I will show you right now. Let me fetch some armour.”

They met in the yard a few moments later, Æthelflæd as nervous and excited as she had been before each lesson when she was a girl. Steapa went easy on her at first, but she pushed herself hard, eager to show off the new skills she was perfecting. It was not long before she was out of breath and they paused their fighting so she could rest. Æthelflæd put down her heavy weapon and sunk to the ground, sitting against a wall.

“Are you training with Uhtred, then, lady?” Steapa asked, not even sweating after their sparring.

“No, I am not. Why do you ask?”

“You are fighting in the Danish style, lady. Using your shield more than your sword. It is not what I taught you.”

Æthelflæd was embarrassed then and lowered her eyes, as if he would see on her face all that had passed between her and Erik. “My teacher is a Northman. A warlord, though he is an ally of Uhtred’s now.”

He nodded, seemingly uninterested in knowing more. “I’m pleased to see you fighting again, lady. I hope you will continue.”

“Of course I will. But while I’m in Winchester, I’ll need someone to teach me.” She looked at him imploringly, and it struck her that it was the exact expression Ælfwynn used to beg treats and favours.

Steapa shook his head, feigning annoyance. “I am very busy, lady. You know there is a king in Winchester and I am the chief of his household guard.”

“But we are in a time of peace, Steapa. You must be very bored. Nothing to do. Surely you have time for me.”

He laughed and reached out to pull her to her feet. “Alright, lady. But I won’t be teaching you anymore of those Danish tricks. You’ll only get good Christian fighting here.”

“Good Christian fighting? You should tell Father Beocca. He could write a sermon about it! The sin of overusing your shield.”

He chuckled and raised his weapon for another round of sparring.

* * *

Uhtred and his men had arrived in Winchester during a feast. They had been welcomed into the hall and offered food and drink, but soon enough they were all crowded in a corner with King Edward and his advisors. Erik was with them, between Finan and Osferth, occasionally adding his thoughts to the intense discussion. Æthelflæd had greeted the men briefly when they arrived, but she wanted to know what they spoke of.

When she approached the table, hoping to take a seat next to Uhtred, one of her brother’s lords addressed her. “Lady Æthelflæd, you can see we require more ale. Then you can ensure all the other guests have been fed.”

She was about to object when Edward agreed. “Yes, sister, more ale for the tables. While my wife is in confinement, Æthelflæd has been generous enough to help with the hosting duties.” She looked to Uhtred, but he and the other men had already turned back to their discussion.

Æthelflæd felt shame burn her cheeks. She left the table without looking Erik’s way. She couldn’t bear to see him pity her, or worse, ignore her as the others had.

After arranging for more ale to be brought to the lords and checking in on the other tables of guests, Æthelflæd made her way out of the hall. She walked around the building, trying to escape the sound of talk and laughter, until she found a quiet stretch of wall–the outside of the small library where her father had stored his records. She rested against the wall and groaned in exasperation. Leaning back to look up at the night sky, she began to trace the patterns in the stars.

“Is the feast not to your liking, lady?”

Æthelflæd was relieved to recognize Erik’s voice. “I’m afraid not. I found it very dull.”

He furrowed his brow. “And here I thought you enjoyed my company.”

Æthelflæd sighed heavily. “But I have not had the chance to speak with you. Not while you are involved in important political discussion and I am sent to fetch more ale and bread.”

“Are you angry with the king, then? For giving you the responsibilities of a wife rather than an advisor?”

“Yes, of course I am. And it has nothing to do with his wife being absent. His advisors do not like me at the table. They don’t like what I have to say so they find ways to push me out and he does not stop them.”

“You should be there, lady. You lead Mercia, you’re intelligent and educated, you know everything that passed in Lunden, and you have knowledge of war and strategy. The king would benefit from your voice.”

She felt warmed by Erik’s words, by his confidence in her. “I agree. But Edward is being trained to see me as a nuisance at best, a rival at worst.” Æthelflæd thought for a moment, then asked, “Why did Uhtred back me in Lunden, but not tonight?”

Erik considered her question carefully. “There has been more pressure from lords in Mercia. I think Uhtred is worried for you. Perhaps he thinks that if he and the others ignore you, you will be seen as less of a threat.”

Æthelflæd thought of Aldhelm, grabbing her arm in the road. She had heard that he was serving a new lord, one who had ousted the Danes in the north of Mercia, that they had many men on their side. She wondered how serious the danger was.

She shook her head decidedly. “Enough politics.” She wrapped her arms around Erik. “I have missed you.”

Erik pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her lips. “I must admit,” he murmured, between kisses, “that I found it difficult to focus on politics tonight while you were so near. I am sure Osferth caught me staring at you, more than once.”

“We should be careful,” she pulled him against her, her body pinned against the wall. “But I don’t want to be careful.”

Erik kissed her deeply, his hands sliding down her hips and around to cup her backside. She felt that she couldn’t get close enough to him, responding to his touch with a frantic, hungry need.

Eventually, the sharp sound of laughter interrupted their embrace. There were men leaving the hall now, and soon they would not be alone.

“Will you come back inside, lady? I can play the fearsome Dane and make demands on all the Saxons for you.”

She smiled. “No, I have had enough company for one night.” The sound of more men drifted through the night air toward them. “But soon, we will find time, yes? More time.”

“Of course.”

Æthelflæd bid him goodnight and made her way home in the moonlight.

* * *

Within a matter of days, Æthelflæd had left Winchester to return to Mercia. She brought a large party with her. Edward had been receiving messages from Mercian lords and ealdormen, and Aldhelm had arrived in Winchester the day before. It was clear that Æthelflæd’s words in Lunden had been ill-received, at least by some. Uhtred and his men, including Erik, were escorting Æthelflæd back to her Mercian estate. Once there, they would assess the danger and plan their next moves.

They had been riding all morning and just as Æthelflæd was beginning to grow bored and restless, the sun broke through the clouds. She closed her eyes, trusting her horse to ride true while she enjoyed the warm sunlight on her face. When she opened her eyes a moment later, Erik was riding alongside her.

“Good morning, lady. I’m sorry to wake you.”

She still felt a thrill every time she saw him, as if they had been apart years instead of mere weeks. “Good morning, Lord Erik. I hope you are enjoying the sunshine as much as I am.”

“Since you are in such a good mood, I wonder if you would grant me a favour.”

Æthelflæd looked at him suspiciously. “What is it? Have you been insulting your horse again? Because I don’t have the horse whispering skills of my daughter.”

He laughed. “No, Fugl and I are on good terms today. I want your opinion on a question. I know how educated you are. I’m sure you’ll have a better answer than I do.”

“Alright. Ask me your question.”

He paused and took a deep breath. “I wonder if a Saxon princess would ever marry a Norse warlord.”

Æthelflæd felt her heart beat quicken. She was struck by a mixture of elation and apprehension. “Erik. That is not possible.”

He wasn’t bothered by her swift refutation. “See, I thought you would say that. But I need to understand why. What would stand in their way? What are the obstacles? Help me understand.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts. “The Saxon people would not approve.”

“And they have a say in this?”

“Yes! A princess–a lady of high standing, she is worth something to the Saxon people. Her marriage can make or break alliances. She is valued as a representative of her kingdom.” Æthelflæd felt foolish speaking about herself in the third person, but she wasn’t ready to acknowledge the intimacy of Erik’s question. Best to think it through as though it were someone else’s problem.

Erik responded quickly and calmly. “Of course she is valuable. But what if she is a widow? Older, more experienced. Been through childbirth. Would that mean she is less cherished?”

This snapped her out of the third person. “Are you saying because I am not a young virgin, I am less valuable?!”

“I am not saying that! I think you are precious, lady, just as you are. I am only saying that the Saxons put so much emphasis on virtue and chastity. You are beyond such things. Doesn’t that grant you some degree of freedom from the expectations of your people and your kingdom?”

She was still processing his words when he refuted her second point. “And if a Saxon princess is used to make alliances: that works in our favour, doesn’t it? Saxons are tired of war. A marriage to a Dane could strengthen the possibility of peace.”

“You seem keen on breaking down my reasons against marriage.”

He grinned. “I am. Give me more. I have an answer to them all.”

“Won’t the Danes and Northmen be angry?”

Erik shrugged. “They are always angry. We’ll hold a feast, we’ll give them ale, they will drink, and then they will find something else to be angry about.”

“I am a Christian. You are a Pagan. How would we even agree on a ceremony?”

“Easy. We would have two ceremonies. Or just a Christian ceremony. I don’t care who says we’re married, as long as it is so.”

“I have a daughter! Another man’s child.”

“I like your daughter. I will help you raise her and soon she will be the greatest shield maiden around.”

“Where would we even live? I would not leave England.”

He laughed. “Lady, I left Norway long ago. I will live wherever you want to.”

She sighed, exhausted by his persistence.

Erik waited, and then spoke quietly. “There’s one reason you haven’t named. You haven’t said you don’t want to marry me.”

She couldn’t look at him, then, not when she heard the hope in his voice.

After a long pause, Erik spoke again. “I have thought long and hard about this, Lady Æthelflæd. I know what I want. I want a life with you and I will give up most anything to get it. But you must have time to consider it carefully. You can seek me out when you have an answer.”

Before Æthelflæd could find any words, Erik had ridden on ahead, catching up to the next group of riders. She was left alone with her thoughts.


	5. Chapter 5

By nighttime, they had made camp. Uhtred and his men were gathered around the fire, but Æthelflæd sat a distance apart. She was trying to make sense of the shapes in the stars when Osferth approached.

“I am to offer you ale and company, by orders of my lord.” He held out a mug to her, which she happily took.

“I accept both, Osferth.”

He sat beside her on the bed roll, which she had laid over the stony ground.

“We could return to the fire, if you wish, lady.”

“No,” she responded, “I would like to stay here. My head is too full for conversation tonight.”

“If you mean you are tired of Finan’s jokes, then I understand.”

They fell into a companionable silence.

Æthelflæd had known Osferth for many years now, since he had joined Uhtred’s crew, but they had become closer during her stay in Lunden. Since the death of her father, Æthelflæd had been drawn to Osferth. His status, or lack thereof, made less and less sense to her. He was older than Edward and everyone knew that he was Alfred’s son, but that did not entitle him to anything. She had always been taught that as Alfred’s daughter, she was worthy of a certain degree of respect. And while Alfred was alive, Æthelflæd had enjoyed a great deal of favour. But with her father buried and her brother on the throne, she had felt herself falling in status. Status was not a matter of birth or blood but of chance and politics. Of course, this must be obvious to Osferth, who had always lived in obscurity. But Æthelflæd was still grappling with her father’s inconsistencies and failures. And with her mother growing stricter and her brother coming into his power, Æthelflæd felt slightly adrift. Osferth, this man who shared her blood and, she sometimes thought, her temperament, seemed a likely ally.

“Osferth, what is it like to live among Danes?”

He took his time answering. “That depends on the Dane. Some are better than others. You couldn’t pay me a king’s fortune to live near Bloodhair and his ilk. But others–Brida, Ragnar–I like them well enough. Their exuberance takes some getting used to, especially after the monastery. They are so loud all the time. Well, not so much in the morning. But they are good-humoured, and if you are not the butt of the joke they can be good company.”

He looked at her carefully before continuing. “Now, living with one Dane is another matter altogether. I think you could do very well living with one Dane, especially if he was of your choosing.” He pushed on, his voice teasing, “Or perhaps you mean to ask me what it’s like to live with a Northman? That I cannot answer, lady.”

Æthelflæd was grateful for the darkness the hid the flush rising in her cheeks. “Osferth, I think you misunderstand me.”

“My apologies, lady. It’s just, a few weeks ago, Lord Erik was asking after you. I think he knew I could be trusted to keep his inquiries to myself. But I suppose he was just curious.”

It occurred to Æthelflæd that Osferth had been riding behind her on the road today. Had he been close enough to hear her exchange with Erik? He had certainly noticed how long they had spoken and how intensely she had reacted.

“Can I trust you, Osferth? To keep my questions to yourself as well?”

“Of course, lady. I was a monk once, you know. I am very good at keeping quiet.”

Æthelflæd smiled at him then, her worries abating a little. She did trust him. Not just because he was Uhtred’s man, but because he was so kind to her, even after all the years she and her family had ignored him.

“I do not make a habit of liking Danes and Pagans, my lady, but I like Lord Erik. I have noticed that he treats his horse and his servants with as much respect as he treats any lord. That’s a sign of a good character, don’t you think?”

Osferth rose to his feet then, unwrapping the blanket he had been wearing around his shoulders. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, lady, but take this blanket. You’ll need the extra layer if you’re to avoid Finan’s jokes.”

* * *

It had been four days since Erik’s proposal and Æthelflæd still had not answered. She had been avoiding him–a difficult task, given the size of their party. It had not gone unnoticed that the two of them, usually amicable in public, were now barely speaking. Erik was attempting to give her space, hoping not to crowd her while she made up her mind. But it seemed he could not give her enough space; after she excused herself yet again moments after he arrived at the fire, he stood and followed her.

“I thought I should tell you, lady, that I understand,” his voice was low and she paused on the path so she could hear him. “You have made your feelings clear. You don’t have to worry about me pestering you again. I will be leaving the party in the morning.”

When she turned, he had already gone, returned to the warmth of the fire. Æthelflæd felt cold then, but she knew she could not join them. She could not sit across from him, see his striking blue eyes lit by the firelight, without falling apart. She breathed deeply, attempting to fold up her grief and stow it away, then entered the inn and climbed to her bed.

* * *

When the sun finally rose, Æthelflæd rose with it, dressing quickly and making her way quietly out of the inn. She had barely slept, kept awake with thoughts of Erik and what he had asked of her. Could she really risk everything for this man? Could she live with herself if she said no?

She walked quickly to the church. It was small and rough; the last church had been burned and the locals had shown little interest in rebuilding it. Eventually, Edward had sent men to replace it, but it was apparent that it was not well used.

As she had hoped, Osferth was inside, carefully cleaning the altar. She thought of his nickname, Baby Monk. Although he had left the monastery to serve Uhtred, he was still a pious man and he often retreated to holy sites when he had the chance.

“Good morning, Osferth.”

“Good morning, Lady Æthelflæd. You are awake early.”

“I did not sleep well. I find myself struggling with a decision.”

“Have you come to pray on it?”

She smiled to herself. He sounded just like her father. How strange and yet how reasonable that they should be alike. “No, Osferth, I have come to ask your advice.”

He finished his task and led her to a bench, where they sat side by side. He folded his hands and waited for her to begin.

“You were right.”

“About what?”

“About me. About Erik. There is…something between us. And now I must choose how to proceed.”

“Why have you come to ask me?”

She had thought it would be obvious. “Because you chose, didn’t you? You chose Uhtred. You had a life set out for you, a steady, Christian life, and you chose something else entirely.”

Osferth looked at her curiously. “You believe our situations are similar?”

“Aren’t they?” Æthelflæd took a deep breath before going on. “I know you aren’t a widow with a child to care for and a kingdom in dispute, but more broadly: My father put you in a monastery; my father put me in a marriage to a Mercian lord. Neither of us had much say in the matter. Both of us could pose as threats to the Saxon crown, and as such we have to be managed carefully. Both of us are capable of much more than what is expected. You chose to go against my father’s wishes, against your king’s wishes, and follow a man who challenges everything you’ve been raised to believe, yes? Now I am asking you if I should do the same.”

By the end of her speech Æthelflæd felt uneasy; she had never spoken of their shared blood. She did not know how Osferth would take it.

“Well,” Osferth said, “I suppose we are not so different after all.” He paused a long time before speaking again and Æthelflæd resisted the urge to fill the silence. “Do you remember my uncle Leofric?”

“A little. He did not like children.”

Osferth chuckled. “That is true, he did not. He didn’t know what to do with them. But nevertheless, when I was growing up in the monastery, he would visit me often. He would give me lessons in sword skill. I think he considered it the easiest way to pass the time. And he would tell me stories. They were awful stories, full of loose women and bloody wounds. The monks hated him, but he scared them all so they let us be. In the final years before he died, he would tell me stories of Uhtred. Leofric would call him the arseling, but it was clear how much he respected Uhtred, even when he was just a young warrior. I think–” he paused then, uncertain whether or not to speak the next words. “I think one of the reasons Leofric liked Uhtred was because Uhtred would challenge Alfred. Uhtred was the only one who would speak back to the king. It got him into trouble, of course, but I knew that sometimes Leofric wished he could do the same.”

He turned to Æthelflæd then. “I do not mean to speak ill of your lord father, lady.”

“No,” she reassured him, “I understand. He could be a stubborn man. I think he liked that about Uhtred too. I think he appreciated being challenged. But not often.”

Osferth continued. “What I mean to say is this: when I was a boy, my favourite person in the world spoke of Lord Uhtred as though he were a hero. Uhtred came to represent everything that was missing from my life: freedom, adventure, honour. He lived a life I had never thought possible.”

Æthelflæd thought of her time in the marshlands, of her days with Hild and Iseult. Hadn’t those women been her heroes, opening up whole worlds to her? And Erik: didn’t he make all things feel possible?

“I began to dream of joining Uhtred,” Osferth admitted, “but there was one thing holding me back: my faith. I knew that Lord Uhtred was a Pagan and I did not think I could give up so much on the chance that he was the man I hoped he’d be. But then I saw Hild. She was one of Uhtred’s closest friends. She had ridden with him and fought by his side. And she was welcomed in our monastery all the same. I knew then that I could make a life outside the monastery without losing my faith, and that Uhtred would be the man to help me do it. Of course, it took quite a bit longer to convince him of that.” He smiled then, remembering how long Gisela had advocated for him, and how even Sihtric had warmed to him before Uhtred had reluctantly accepted Osferth’s oath.

“I think, lady, that you need to take stock, reflect on what you need to live your life. I needed my God. I would only follow a man who would let me keep my faith. You should not have to give up the best parts of yourself for someone else.”

They were quiet then as Æthelflæd considered his advice.

“Do you have any regrets, Osferth?”

He smiled. “None, lady. I am where I need to be.”

She thanked him for his help and left him to his prayers.

* * *

Æthelflæd took a winding path through the town, carefully weighing Osferth’s words. His story had loosened the tension she’d been carrying these last few days. By the time she arrived back at the inn, she knew what she needed to do.

She came inside to find Finan sitting at a table, resting his head between his arms. “I am giving up ale, lady. For good this time.”

She smiled at his exhaustion. “Have you seen Lord Erik this morning? I wish to speak with him.”

“Yes, I have, unfortunately. He woke me up at this awful hour to get his knife back. I was doing some tricks with it last night, you see–”

“Where is he now, Finan?”

“Gone. Or going. He was preparing to go east.”

Æthelflæd ran towards the stables, unbothered by the stares from the people she passed. She stopped when she saw Erik. His back was to her and he was prepping his horse for the journey ahead. She circled around and approached him and Fugl slowly. He didn’t look up at her, even when she leaned into the horse, weaving her hand into his mane.

“How soon?” she asked.

Erik frowned, still not meeting her eyes. “How soon? How soon what?”

“How soon can we be married?”

At her words, his face relaxed, but he stayed focused on the horse. “If you are teasing me, lady…”

“I’m not teasing. Not about this.”

Erik looked at her then. He spoke tentatively. “I need to go east, to help one of my men, but the business should not take long. I can be back in Mercia in ten days time.”

“Eight days,” she countered.

He laughed. “This is not a negotiation, lady. Fugl can only run so fast.”

“Is that so? I heard rumours that he could fly.”

“Ten days, and then I will be yours for good. No more waiting.”

Æthelflæd smiled at him, and reached across Fugl’s back to touch his hand where it rested on the reigns. Just for a moment, before he climbed onto the horse.

As Erik spurred the horse towards the road, he called back to her, “You must be certain, lady, when the time comes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Aethelflaed and Osferth should be bros.


	6. Chapter 6

Though Æthelflæd had not told anyone about her plans, she had prepared carefully for Erik’s return. She had a room ready for him when he arrived: tomorrow, if his journey went smoothly. She had found a priest who did not have any objections to pagans, so long as he was paid well. She had arranged for a feast to honour Saint Joanna, planning for the feast to double as a wedding celebration. She had seen to a dozen other domestic details, from preparing her finest dress to sending for more ale from the monastery to the west. There was one other small matter she had to settle.

Osferth cautiously entered Æthelflæd’s library. “You wished to see me, lady?”

“Yes, please, come in and sit.”

She poured him a cup of mead and sat across from him at the small table. Æthelflæd felt awkward then, unsure how to begin. She had thought she had something very important to tell him, but as she searched for the words, she worried they would be meaningless.

“I wanted to thank you, Osferth. For your advice of late. And for your discretion.”

“Of course, lady. I am happy to help.”

“And I wanted to tell you that…that I appreciate you.” He looked at her curiously but did not interject. “That is…we have never spoken of it, our relationship. Not openly. But I know you are my father’s son. I know you are my brother.” Now he moved as if to speak, but she kept talking, not giving him a chance. “You weren’t raised that way, I know, and you have been taught to think of me differently, I’m sure. But I care for you. I trust you. I think you are a good man and I would be proud to consider you my brother, if only between us.”

Osferth had not been expecting this. He was used to being of service, used to offering a kind ear and a sage word. But to be offered something back? Something as elusive as family? It threw him off balance.

“I want you to know,” Æthelflæd continued, “that there will always be a place for you in my household. I know that you are Uhtred’s man and perhaps it will never come to anything. But I would like there to be an understanding between us, that we can call on each other.”

Osferth thought carefully before responding. “It is not clear, lady, whether you are offering me protection or asking for it.”

Æthelflæd smiled. “No, it is not clear. I’m not sure myself. I think my situation will be changing, quite rapidly, and I have no idea what will become of me.”

“So you have chosen, then?”

She nodded.

Osferth stood and walked to the shelves in the corner. He returned with a quill, ink pot, and parchment.As she watched, he prepared the quill and began to write, his letters small and neat.

“Let it be written,” he spoke as he wrote, “that Osferth the baby monk–” (she smiled at his self-deprecation) “–is sworn to serve Lady Æthelflæd, should she call on him.”

“And let it be written,” she dictated, “that Æthelflæd pledges her care and protection to her brother, Osferth.” When he had finished writing, she leaned forward to read over his words. “Do we sign, then?”

He nodded, writing his initials at the bottom of the page. She took the pen and added her own name, writing with care. “Where will we keep it? With me or with you?”

Osferth shrugged. “Perhaps we should make a second copy?”

Æthelflæd smiled and reached for another piece of parchment.

* * *

Erik arrived at the Mercian estate in the early evening. It was summer now and despite the late hour, the sun was still warm on his neck as he left Fugl in the care of a stable hand. The man eyed Erik warily but did not object; Æthelflæd’s people had become used to men like Uhtred, men who did not look Saxon.

Erik walked swiftly towards the hall and was wondering if the guards would let him through when he heard a shriek of delight. Ælfwynn was rushing towards him, her nurse Eadgyd a step or two behind.

“Hello, _feilan_ , I am pleased to see you.” He mussed her hair, which was lighter and curlier than her mother’s.

“Erik! Is Fugl here? I can find him apples!”

“Yes, _feilan_ , but not yet. He is resting after a long ride. And I need to see your mother. Can you take me to her?”

Ælfwynn nodded and grabbed his hand, her small fist wrapping around his large fingers. She led him up the steps of the hall. When the guards stepped out, Ælfwynn barely glanced at them. “He is my guest,” she said confidently, and they stepped back.

As the pair made their way down a hallway, the child spoke excitedly. “Sihtric told me that Danes fight with their shields. Do you know how to fight with a shield?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you can teach me. We can start tomorrow, after my nap.”

He grinned. “I don’t know, _feilan_ , you might not be ready. My shield is taller than you are!”

She shrugged. “Then you can make me a smaller shield.”

He laughed. “I am not shield maker. But perhaps your mother will have an idea of how we can start your training safely, yes?”

* * *

Æthelflæd, Uhtred, and the others were in her library, discussing the news brought by a messenger. She heard her daughter’s high-pitched voice, followed by a lower tone. Erik. Recognizing his voice, she felt giddy. She was as terrible as her four-year-old daughter, about to be overwhelmed by her own excitement.

Ælfwynn and Erik entered the room and the girl announced the lord’s arrival with a mimicked formality. Eadgyd entered behind them and reached for the child, exchanging glances with Æthelflæd.

“Thank you, Ælfwynn, you are an excellent host. Now I believe it’s time for your dinner, so why don’t you go with Eadgyd, hmm?”

Ælfwynn was about to protest, but Eadgyd took her firmly by the hand and led her out of the room, assuring the child that she would tell her a story about a water snake, and it would be far more interesting than the business that was going to be discussed by her mother and the other guests.

Æthelflæd turned to Erik, unable to suppress her wide smile. “Welcome, Lord Erik. I trust your journey was good?”

“Yes, lady, though I had to ride very quickly to keep promises.” It was true that he looked worn out; his clothes were stiff with dried mud and rain.

“I did not expect to see you soon, Lord Erik,” Uhtred said, “Do you bring news?”

Instead of answering, Erik looked to Æthelflæd.

“Lord Erik is here for me, Uhtred,” she was beaming now. “We are going to be married. Tomorrow.”

Her declaration was met with a shocked silence, and then Uhtred exploded across the room. In a moment, he had Erik pressed against the nearest wall, a knife to the Northman’s throat.

“Is this another one of your schemes, Erik Thurgilson? I know you to be crafty. So tell me, what are you to gain from claiming a Saxon king’s daughter?”

Erik responded calmly, not rising to match Uhtred’s aggression. “I can assure you this is no scheme, Lord Uhtred. I love Lady Æthelflæd. I am fortunate that she feels the same.”

“Leave the man alone, lord, let them speak.” Uhtred was surprised to find Osferth at his side, gently intervening. He lowered his knife and released Erik, though not without a final push.

“You cannot be serious, lady?” There was real anger in Uhtred’s voice and Æthelflæd did her best not to flinch as he turned on her.

“The wedding will be tomorrow,” she responded firmly.

Uhtred began to pace, seeming to fill the room with his agitation. “I cannot allow this to happen. Erik, you must leave. This wedding will not take place.”

Æthelflæd drew herself up her full height. “Uhtred, I have not asked your permission.”

He was still pacing and talking, making plans to have Erik escorted out of Mercia.

“Uhtred. I am addressing you.”

He ignored her still, appealing now to Erik, explaining that he would give the man a new ship and crew to travel wherever he wished.

Æthelflæd slammed her fist on the table, her blow so forceful that two cups toppled over. At the sudden noise, Uhtred stopped pacing and turned to stare at her.

“Lord Uhtred,” she spoke quietly now, her voice barely more than a sharp whisper, “it seems I must remind you that you are a guest in my house. You are not my father, not my husband, not my lord, but a guest. I have just informed you of my marriage to Erik. I have not asked your advice, your approval, or your permission. I do not require it. The wedding will be tomorrow afternoon. If you choose to attend, you and your men can stay on as my guests. But if you cannot contain your opinions or control your anger, then I will bid you farewell. Do you understand?”

Uhtred was stunned by her speech. After a moment, he spoke again, gentler this time. “But your father, Lady Æthelflæd. Alfred would not approve such a match.”

“My father is long buried, Uhtred, and will not be consulted on this decision. Besides, lord, you know as well as I do that my father had terrible taste in husbands. I am confident I can choose better on my own.”

The room was left in an uneasy silence. Æthelflæd was conscious of an ache in her hand where she had struck it on the table. She would have a bruise in the morning, but she didn’t regret it. Just then, a servant entered the room and spoke softly to Æthelflæd. She nodded and turned back to the assembled men.

“Now,” she said, smiling at them as if nothing had occurred, “there is food ready in the hall. I am sure you are all hungry. Please, go and eat. I will join you shortly, once I show Lord Erik to his room.” She gestured for them to leave the room. They exited one by one. Osferth offered her a small, kind smile; Finan performed an exaggerated bow; Sihtric did not meet her eyes; and finally Uhtred. Uhtred stopped beside her.

“Lady, I am only concerned for you. You are risking everything.”

“Uhtred, I have made my decision.”

“And if it changes your whole life?”

“I choose a life with Erik.”

He sighed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

When they were finally alone, Æthelflæd did a little spin in her excitement. “Do you believe that I am certain now, Erik?”

He grinned broadly and caught her in his arms. “I believe that you could conquer England all on your own, _ástin mín._ ” He swept her into a deep kiss.

* * *

Æthelflæd showed Erik to his room, where there was water prepared for him to wash. She couldn’t help but linger, aiding him in removing his cloak and shirt, dampening a cloth to wipe the mud from his skin and hair. 

“I can’t tell if you are helping or hindering, lady,” he said, as she bent to kiss the tattoos along his arms and chests.

“You will have to stop calling me lady soon. It’s far too formal.”

He cupped her chin in his hand, gently raising her head so he could see her eyes. “Æthelflæd,” he whispered. 

She turned her head slightly to kiss his palm, the pad of his thumb, the ridge of his knuckles. “It sounds more beautiful in your accent.”

Erik furrowed his brow. “Accent? What are you talking about? I don’t have an accent. You are confused, woman.” His accent thickened then, his _w_ slipping into a _v_ sound, his voice rising in inflection. Æthelflæd giggled and burrowed her face into his neck. He enfolded her in his arms.

“So,” he murmured into her hair, “tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. I will be yours and you will be mine. No more hiding.”

“Does this mean I sleep alone tonight?” His voice sounded sly, and she couldn’t help but grin. 

“I am afraid so,” she replied, extracting herself from his embrace. He groaned in disappointment. “But I will tell you what I tell my daughter,” she said, as she opened the door to leave, “the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner tomorrow will come.” 


	7. Chapter 7

There was one person who was overjoyed at the prospect of Erik and  Æthelflæd’s wedding: Ælfwynn. Granted, she didn’t fully understand what marriage _was_ , but she understood a handful of very important things: 1) Erik was staying for good; 2) so was Fugl; 3) there was going to be a celebration; and 4) she was allowed to stay up later than usual to attend the celebration. It was almost too much for a four-year-old child to bear, and Eadgyd had to put her down for a nap early at great protest. 

While the child slept, Æthelflæd was free to make the final preparations. She had announced the marriage to her servants, who had been gossiping since Erik’s arrival the night before. The response was mixed. On the one hand, Æthelflæd had several loyal servants who had been with her since the beginning of her first marriage and who were glad to see their lady happy. On the other hand, there was still a great deal of distrust and ill-will towards Danes, and the idea that the king’s sister was marrying one was met with some anger. Æthelflæd knew that news would spread quickly from her people to neighbouring towns and likely to King Edward and her rivals for Mercia. She would just have to face the consequences as they arose.

Meanwhile, Erik had been sent to find a cord for the hand-fasting ceremony and other small tokens. These errands were meant to take him around Æthelflæd’s estate. This way he was out of sight, so she could finish all her tasks without getting distracted by his maddeningly handsome face. And Æthelflæd knew the errands would bring Erik into contact with as many of her people as possible. He was an exceedingly agreeable men, well-known for handling negotiations smoothly and garnering respect even from his enemies, and she was certain he could win over at least some of the members of her estate before the afternoon’s ceremony.

She also hoped that in sending Erik around the estate, he would avoid another run in with Uhtred, who was still brooding after the announcement the night before. He had repeated his objections over breakfast, taking it upon himself to explain to Æthelflæd what a crafty man Erik was.

“Are you aware, lady, that the week of your wedding to Æthelred, Erik called me away from Winchester to witness the prophecy of a so-called dead man?”

Æthelflæd’s wide eyes indicated that no, she was not aware, and Uhtred went on. 

“I watched a corpse named Bjorn crawl out of his grave and proclaim my destiny. It was all a scheme, of course, arranged by Erik. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

Æthelflæd looked across the table at Erik. He was leaning back, patiently listening to Uhtred’s story, the hint of a smirk on his face.

Æthelflæd thought for a moment and then spoke. “So you believed it, Lord Uhtred? You believed that a man awoke from the dead and crawled from his grave just to speak to you?” There was a mocking incredulity in her voice.

Uhtred slammed his mug on the table, annoyed. “I did not believe it. I am no fool.”

“But Finan did.” The words were spoken quietly from down the table. Sihtric, mumbling into this plate. He spoke so seldom that Æthelflæd barely recognized his voice.

Finan rolled his eyes at the accusation, but did not deny it. “You were not there, lady. It was a gruesome sight. That skinny corpse of a man crawled out of the ground and coughed up a harp wire.” He jabbed his finger at Erik. “That man is a creepy bastard.”

Erik was fully smirking now. Æthelflæd looked at him curiously, then back at Uhtred. 

“What did the dead man tell you, Uhtred?”

Uhtred looked away, clearly uncomfortable. Erik dropped his eyes too. Æthelflæd stared at them both, arms crossed, waiting them out. Uhtred spoke first.

“He told me I would be a king. King of Mercia.”

Æthelflæd couldn’t help but smile. “And what did you have to do to secure this title?” 

Uhtred looked pointedly at Erik, who cleared his throat and avoided Æthelflæd’s eyes.

“Erik, what did you want Uhtred to do?” her question was direct and demanding.

“I wanted him to betray King Alfred,” Erik admitted.

Æthelflæd narrowed her eyes. “If I understand correctly, you called away my father’s best warrior, days before my wedding, and set up an elaborate scheme to convince him to betray my father and my kingdom.”

Erik briefly looked down at his plate, but then thought better of it, and met her gaze directly. “Yes. But I didn’t know you then. If I had known you, I would have been too busy stopping the wedding so I could have you all to myself. No time for schemes or betrayal or dead men named Bjorn.”

Æthelflæd laughed in delight. He had said the right thing, as always.

Uhtred groaned loudly. “Lady, do you not see what type of man he is? You cannot marry him!”

She rose from her seat and shrugged. “I like intelligent men. I think I will keep him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have many preparations to attend to.”

After talking to her servants, accepting well-wishes from some and ignoring the angry stares of others, Æthelflæd found herself alone for the first time all day. She ran through the mental list of things that needed doing, feeling deeply envious of Ælfwynn’s nap time. 

A firm knock on the door interrupted her thoughts; it was one of her servants, a young Danish woman who had married a Saxon man in her guard. The woman, Gyda, looked at her brightly. Æthelflæd knew Gyda was happy; her mistress’s marriage to a Dane may mean smoother waters for her own mixed family. “I have come to do your hair, lady? For the ceremony?”

“Yes, of course, Gyda. Thank you.”

Æthelflæd removed her veil and sat on a stool, sitting up straight so Gyda could begin the labourious task of braiding. “How shall I style it, lady?”

“However you like, Gyda.” Æthelflæd had seen Gyda’s handiwork on other women and she knew the servant was capable of elaborate styles.

Gyda smiled and set to work, her fingers racing to catch up to the image in her mind’s eye. After a few moments of concentration, Gyda began to talk, speaking softly and rapidly about the excitement of weddings, about her own wedding day. Æthelflæd closed her eyes and willed her thoughts to slow, relishing the soft touch of fingers on her hair.

The ceremony was short; Æthelflæd had paid the priest extra to avoid a sermon on the dire fate of pagans. For the first time all day, Æthelflæd let herself focus on Erik and Erik alone. She gazed at him and knew she could spend a lifetime captivated by those pale blue eyes. When their hands were tied together, she felt the warmth of his fingers, the flutter of his pulse in his wrist: this was all she needed. The ceremony came to an end too soon and not soon enough, and Æthelflæd was finally kissing him, feeling the thrill of all eyes on them.

The feast was subdued at first. Æthelflæd kept craning her neck to check on the servants, be sure that they were circulating with ale and food and that everyone was seen to.

“Be patient, _ástin mín_. Let them eat.” Erik took her by the shoulders and turn her so they were facing each other. “You look so beautiful.” He ran a finger lightly over her hair, careful not to disturb it. “You look like a Danish bride.”

Æthelflæd smiled modestly. “Gyda, one of my Danish servants, she did it for me. I think she got carried away a bit.”

“No, no, it’s perfect. You are perfect. The only way this could be better is if we are alone and you weren’t wearing a stitch of clothing.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You are getting ahead of yourself, Erik. First we must celebrate with everyone,” she leaned forward and lowered her voice, “then we can celebrate together.”

He smiled wide and she took in the beauty of his smile, the soft creases lining his eyes.

“What does it mean, _ástin mín?”_

 _“_ It means my love, my dear.”

“I like it. _Ástin mín_.”

They were interrupted by Osferth clearing his throat. They looked up to find him and Uhtred standing before them. Uhtred had been late to the feast and had yet to take his place beside Æthelflæd at the head table.

Osferth looked pointedly at Uhtred and nodded. Uhtred exhaled.

“At the behest of Baby Monk here,” he jerked his head in Osferth’s direction, “I have come to offer my congratulations on your marriage and my apologies for yesterday.” He looked at them both, sitting side by side with their hands intertwined on the table, and spoke more genuinely. “You have both been good friends to me. It is wonderful that you have found happiness together.”

Uhtred reached for Erik’s cup and held it high in the air. Turning to the rest of the hall, he raised his voice, “To Erik and Æthelflæd!”

The guests echoed his toast and cheered, drinking from their own cups.

Æthelflæd cast a grateful glance in Osferth’s direction. He winked in response and took his seat at the table. Uhtred sat down as well and reached for his cup, having emptied Erik’s already.

“Thank you, Uhtred,” Æthelflæd said, “I know an apology from you is a rare thing. And I know you cannot be pleased with my choice.”

“I am happy for you, Æthelflæd, I am. But I am worried. You have made a bold choice, a dangerous choice.”

“And you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Uhtred Ragnarson?”

He rolled his eyes, admitting defeat. “I cannot understand how you have wooed Erik _and_ turned my own men against me. What have you done to Osferth? He has been pleading your case all day.”

Æthelflæd smiled. “I have not _done_ anything, Uhtred. It is simply that I am exceedingly likeable, and your men are finally realizing it.”

“Well, you can have Baby Monk, and Erik, and even Sihtric if you must, but leave me Finan, please? He is my best fighter, and I don’t want to find myself with a knife in my back because he did not like my tone when I spoke to you.”

Æthelflæd laughed. “Erik is all mine and we can share Osferth, but the rest I leave to you.”

Soon the celebration became more lively. There was music and dancing and too much ale. Ælfwynn escaped Eadgyd and sought out her mother. Erik amused Ælfwynn with a dance of his own devising that seemed to mostly involve the child being swung in the air. Ælfwynn insisted on being spun until she began to look queasy and then ran off to join the other children. Watching the two of them together, Æthelflæd recalled that day only a few months before when Erik had found a way to occupy the child during the council discussions. She was grateful that her new husband was so interested in Ælfwynn. Ælfwynn had been very young when Æthelred died, but even when he was living he had rarely seen his daughter. Though Ælfwynn was good at making friends and had charmed many of Æthelflæd’s guards, she deserved a father. Alfred had devoted so much time to Æthelflæd during her childhood, and Æthelflæd wanted that same love and attention for her child.

Eventually, the children had been carted off to bed and the celebration had spilled outside into the warm night. Sihtric, Uhtred, and Erik had taken it upon themselves to teach Æthelflæd’s guard Danish games, and the men were involved in a ridiculous tug of war that had many of the women doubled over in laughter. Æthelflæd slipped away to do her nightly rounds: ensuring that sentries were set at the entrances to the estate, checking on the fires always burning in the kitchen and hall, looking in on Ælfwynn. When she returned to the celebration, Erik came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I thought you had made your escape,” he whispered, kissing her neck.

She leaned back in his arms and sighed. “Nowhere to run to. I believe I’m stuck with you."

Erik poked her waist and she let out a tiny shriek, wriggling out of his grasp.

“Well then, wife, if you’re stuck with me then you should at least have a consolation gift.”

He reached to his belt and pulled a long knife out a sheath. He presented it to Æthelflæd, holding out the handle for her to grasp. Her breath caught as the blade glinted in the firelight. The handle was simple and elegant and fit comfortably in her hands. She could see faint lines on the blade, engravings of runes.

“It is a Norse custom: a husband must give his wife a sword on the day of their wedding. This is no sword, but I think it suits you better. It is meant to be a weapon from the husband’s family, and this is the only heirloom I have, passed down to me by my mother.” He untied the sheath from his belt and offered it to her. “You can’t see it in the dim light, but there is a wolf etched into the leather. For you.”

Æthelflæd took the sheath and slid the knife into it. She ran her fingers over the leather, feeling the engraving. “This is too beautiful, Erik. I never expected–” she paused, feeling a rush of emotion. “I have nothing to give you in return.”

He laughed softly. “Æthelflæd _,_ I have you. What more could I want?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter has some smut! Sorry? Not sorry. You can skip it if you need to.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead!

They were able to slip away from the feast unnoticed. They both felt drunk, if not from ale then from each other, and they stumbled through the hallways, stopping again and again to kiss. Erik had Æthelflæd up against a wall, tugging at the collar of her dress so he could press his lips along the tops of her breasts. She leaned her head back against the wall and then let out a sudden giggle.

“What is it?” he said, his voice muffled against her skin.

“We are outside my room. This is my room. There is a bed on the other side of this door!”

She was struck by the absurdity of it: they were so eager for each other they couldn’t even make it into the room efficiently. Erik opened the door and stepped inside, only to realize that Æthelflæd was still in the hallway, doubled over in laughter.

“Alright, lady, come along,” Erik bent and lifted her up, his arms under her knees and back. “In my country, it is the duty of the husband to make sure the wife makes it into the room safely, and you are clearly unable to manage on your own.”

He shut the door firmly and carried her across the room, depositing her on the edge of the bed were she sat, recovering her breath. When she looked up, Erik stood before her, having stripped away his leather vest and weapon-laden belt. Æthelflæd smiled up at him, grabbing his arms and pulling him close to the bed.

“Æthelflæd,” he whispered, as she leaned into kiss his neck, “are you alright? You will tell me if you feel strange?”

She paused and met his eyes. He looked serious then, and she knew he must be thinking of that day in the abbey and of her sudden fear. She gazed at him steadily. “I trust you, Erik.”

Erik exhaled in relief and sat down heavily on the bed. He tugged her over to straddle him, and he reached into her hair, beginning to unwind her intricate hairstyle. He unraveled the braids one by one, running his fingers between the strands. Soon, there was a small pile of pins on the table and Æthelflæd’s hair hung loose over her shoulders. He set to work on her bodice, carefully unweaving the laces until the fabric slumped around her shoulders. Next he turned his attention to her belt, a finally woven band shot through with silver thread, and as he fumbled with the knot he caught sight of her satisfied smile.

“Are you going to make me do everything myself?” he asked, finally succeeding in untying the knot and dropping the belt to the floor.

Æthelflæd stood up and began to pull her dress over her head. “You were doing such an excellent job, I didn’t think I should interrupt.”

Erik grumbled in mock annoyance and tugged her back into his lap, pushing up the skirt of her shift so he could grip her buttocks. With his other hand, he loosened the tie of her shift and pulled the fabric down, finally freeing one of her breasts. His mouth moved down her chest and paused on her breast. Æthelflæd moaned then, feeling the warmth of his breath, then his tongue, on her nipple.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Erik took more of her breast into his mouth, gently sucking.

“Yes.” Her voice was more insistent now, urging him onward. She could feel the hard length of him through the fabric of his trousers, pressing against her. It was maddening. She needed more of him, more touch, more heat.

In a rush of motion, she manoeuvred the shift down her body and let it pool on the floor next to the bed. Next, she tore off his shirt, slowing to run a hand down his firm, muscular chest. He shivered as her fingers grazed the sensitive skin of his stomach. She pushed him back onto the bed and took advantage of his new position to pull at the waist of his breeches. Erik, who had been momentarily stunned by her efforts to undress him, reacted then, helping her to slip the fabric free of his legs.

They were naked then, and though Æthelflæd, straddling him on the bed, was conscious of him rigid and ready against her thigh, she slowed to take in the sight of his body beneath her. That first time, in the abbey, everything had been rushed. They wanted to seize the opportunity. It had been good, satisfying for them both, but there had been no lingering. Now, though she wanted to press on, she reminded herself that there was time to savour this, savour him. They had a lifetime of nights ahead of them.

Erik spoke, his voice low, but she couldn’t understand him. He was speaking Norse. He ran his hands along the soft curves of her body and mumbled the unfamiliar words, sitting up slightly to whisper the words against the flesh of her breasts, his tongue grazing her nipples in an exhilarating shiver of sensation.

“Will you teach me Norse?” she asked, drawing up his chin so she could kiss him deep and hard.

“Mmm, yes, I will,” between kisses, “and your first lesson begins now.”

Erik took her by the shoulders and flipped her onto her back, reversing their positions on the bed. He began by tracing a finger along her lower lip. “Munnr,” he instructed.

“Munnr,” Æthelflæd repeated.

“Óst,” he whispered, dropping a kiss on her throat.

“Óst.”

They carried on this way, Erik indicating a part of her body with his mouth and announcing its name, and Æthelflæd dutifully repeating the word, careful to mimic his pronunciation. It became more difficult as he journeyed lower on her body. She could only moan when he reached her right breast, but luckily she received a second chance to learn the word as he moved onto the left.

Eventually, Erik travelled down from her stomach to the space between her legs, and she inhaled sharply as his mouth moved against her inner thigh. She gasped when he shifted to the damp curls and whispered a word against her soft folds. Æthelflæd had never felt anything so exquisite. He tilted his head up.

“Now, love, you’ll never learn the words if you don’t practice,” he scolded, then dipped his mouth down again, humming the word into her clitoris. She whimpered but couldn’t speak. He spoke it again, punctuating the word with a sweep of his tongue. “I won’t stop until you learn the word.”

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

Erik placed his hands on her hips, holding her still beneath his mouth, and didn’t stop until she cried out for her god.

* * *

Æthelflæd woke in the morning to the blissful feeling of Erik asleep beside her. He was sprawled across the bed, taking more than his fair share of mattress, but his arm was warm where it lay across her body and his handsome face was relaxed in sleep. Æthelflæd felt certain she could make do with a sliver of bed if only she could sleep safe beside him.

But as soon as this sentimental thought had passed, she was bored, and she reached over and began to poke at his side, aiming for the soft flesh between his ribs. After a moment, Erik groaned and rolled onto his side. Eyes still firmly shut, he caught her hand in his and clasped it tight, trapping it against his chest.

“Let me sleep,” he murmured.

She considered his words and then shook her head. “No,” she answered, “I don’t want to wait a moment longer. I’m ready to begin our life together.”

A smile played across his face, but he still didn’t open his eyes.

“There are so many things to do,” Æthelflæd continued, “We have decisions to make. There are people I want you to meet. Things I want to show you. There is breakfast to eat!”

Erik let out a long breath and rolled onto his back, dragging her with him by the arm. “All of that can wait. And I have all the breakfast I need right here.” He raised her hand to his mouth and began to nibble on the tips of her fingers.

Æthelflæd sighed and snuggled up against him, her head on his chest. “You are going to have to open your eyes someday, Erik Thurgilson.”

“I will do it for a kiss,” he conceded finally.

She grinned and leaned up, pecking him on the lips. But he was not satisfied. He wrap his arms around her and pulled her flush against him. His mouth met hers for a long, deep kiss that left her breathless. Then he rose from the bed.

“Alright, Æthelflæd, Lady of Mercia. Let us begin.”

**Author's Note:**

> *This will be explained in a later chapter. 
> 
> Sigefrid is dead (sorry). Aethelred is dead (not sorry).
> 
> I do acknowledge that Erik is from Norway, but he often gets referred to as a Dane rather than a Northman, just like in the show.
> 
> Did I spell something wrong? Tell me.


End file.
